by Diane Kelly
We returned to the library, where I began to review the mall tape. The camera was positioned at the end of a hallway and aimed at the three adjacent doors that led to the men’s room, the ladies’ room, and what was labeled as a family restroom. The mall seemed quite busy. One look at the calendar on my phone and I realized why. The drop date was a Saturday.
As the morning wore on, traffic continued to pick up, mothers with children in strollers taking their children into the more accommodating family restroom. Shortly before noon, a young man and woman came up the hall. They glanced around before the guy grabbed the girl’s hand and pulled her, head tossed back in laughter, into the restroom, closing the door behind them. It was clear what they were going into the room for. They were answering a different call of nature, relieving themselves in a different way.
Three minutes later, the door opened slightly and the girl peeked her head out. When the coast was clear, they both stepped out into the hallway and scurried away from the scene of their crime of passion. Three minutes. Clearly the guy was a rookie.
At the height of the lunch rush in the nearby food court, there was a flurry of activity at the restrooms. A crowd of people came down the hall, one at the back wearing a knit cap. A hipster, no doubt. Who else would wear a hot winter hat in the height of a Texas summer? He also wore a pair of dark shades. Like the potential suspect I’d seen in the dash cam video, he had light brown skin. Hmm …
While the males and females split left and right, the hipster tried the family restroom. Discovering it in use and locked, he ducked into the men’s room next door. Shortly after a father exited the family restroom with his two young sons, the hipster came out of the men’s room and tried the door to the family restroom again. Finding it unlocked now, he slipped inside.
While I’d noticed some people went into the restroom alone, probably for the additional privacy it offered, why hadn’t the guy waited in the hallway to use the room? Had he not wanted to remain in view of the security camera any longer than necessary?
A minute later, the guy came back out of the room and strode quickly down the hall. Was he the same guy I’d seen at Tio’s Taco Stand? He could be. But he could also be someone else entirely. Just as the dashboard camera provided grainy, low-resolution images, so did the security camera. Yet something told me the two young men could be one and the same.
I made a note of the date and time stamp for this footage also, and texted the information to Detective Jackson so she could take a look for herself.
Yawning, I continued through the footage. Over the top of my computer screen, I saw Alexa step off the elevator and head out of the library. Had she accessed the cell phone while she’d been up on the third floor? I wish I knew. Seeing Seth at the pool and enjoying his kiss had only reinforced what I was missing out on by working this undercover case. Good food. A bedroom and bathroom of my own. Nookie. Seth and I would have to make up for lost time once this investigation was complete. Still, I wondered whether I should add Alexa to my list of suspects.
I turned my attention back to my computer. I’d just begun looking at the following day’s recording an hour later when a voice came over the loudspeaker. “Attention, students. The library will be closing in fifteen minutes. If you have materials you would like to check out, please bring them to the circulation desk now. Thank you.”
That was my cue. I turned off my computer and stowed it in my backpack. A light shake of Brigit’s shoulder was all it took to rouse her from the floor. She and I headed up the steps to the third floor. I saw only one person there, a student who appeared to be around my real age, in his mid-twenties, probably a grad student. He was packing up his things so there was no need for concern.
I slunk down the back row with Brigit and crouched down, pulling out the book about Ottoman art. Quickly, I retrieved a disposable glove and clear plastic bag from my backpack. After putting on the glove, I reached behind and under the shelf, felt around until I found the phone, and pulled it out, disconnecting it from the charger. One glance at the screen told me it had at least one fingerprint on it. Yes! I only hoped it wasn’t mine from when I’d felt around for it last time.
I slipped the phone into the plastic bag and dropped it into my backpack along with the glove. As we stood, the library staff issued a five-minute warning over the loudspeaker. No need to nag, I thought. We’re on our way out. Together Brigit and I hurried to my car to take the evidence in for fingerprinting.
Would the techs find a match?
THIRTY-SIX
GET MEOWT OF HERE!
Brigit
When they returned to the dorm room, the girl who lived on the other side of the room, the one Megan seemed to call Emily, hissed at them from her chair at her desk. “Shhh!”
Brigit was a smart dog, and she could tell by the tone and cadence and volume of a person’s voice, as well as their scent, what type of mood they were in. Emily had seemed happier the last couple of times they’d been around her, but now she seemed angry again. The girl was like a cat, her moods changing on a whim. Brigit knew cats. She was forced to live with one, a spotted, fluffy one named Zoe. Sometimes Zoe curled up against Brigit and purred. Other times she swiped at Brigit with her claws out, drawing blood. Yep, this girl was as unpredictable as a cat. But at least at the house Brigit had other rooms she could go into to get away from Zoe. Here, there was nowhere for her and Megan to go.
Brigit looked forward to the day when they could have their own bedroom back at the house. They were going back to the house, weren’t they?
THIRTY-SEVEN
SCREWED OVER, AND OVER AGAIN
The Dealer
“We’ve decided to go another way,” the prick told him.
“What do you mean?” the Dealer asked, glad they were speaking by phone so the prick couldn’t see the confusion and rage on his face. After all the risks he’d taken, the negotiating he’d done, was this bastard backing out on him?
“We don’t think you can get the deal done. We’ve got other options now. Better options. We’re going to explore those.”
The Dealer exploded. “Why don’t you explore your asshole, you son of a bitch!”
The prick laughed. “No need to get nasty. No one needs to know what’s gone on between us. We’ll keep our mouths shut if you’ll keep yours shut, too.”
We? “Who the hell is we?” the Dealer demanded. Only the two of them were supposed to know about their arrangement. But it was too late. Click. The prick was gone.
THIRTY-EIGHT
DANCE MOVES
Megan
Friday morning, I rolled over in bed. The room was surprisingly bright given that it had to be earlier than five-thirty. I’d set my alarm to go off then.
I lifted my head and glanced over at the alarm clock on my desk. The face was dark, no LED digits illuminated. What the—? Sitting bolt upright, I grabbed my phone from the desk and checked the time on the device: 6:43 A.M.
Shit!
I was supposed to have met up with Jackson at the station at six-thirty to get the dealer’s phone so I could return it to its spot under the shelves in the library promptly when the building opened at seven. Why hadn’t my alarm gone off?
I leaped out of bed and threw on a pair of shorts, a T-shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes.
Though I’d tried to be as quiet as possible, Emily nonetheless woke. She sat up. “Why are you in such a rush?”
“I’ve got a paper due at eight this morning and I need to print it out at the library. I set my alarm but it didn’t go off for some reason.”
She yawned. “Oh. I unplugged it last night. I needed an outlet for my new coffeepot.” She gestured toward a small four-cup unit sitting on top of the minifridge. “I bought it with my tutoring money.”
I could’ve throttled her. “Why didn’t you unplug your own damn clock!?!”
She shrugged. “It was late. I didn’t give it much thought.”
I grabbed Brigit’s leash. “An apology would be nice!”<
br />
She rolled her eyes. “Sorry, jeez.”
This inconsiderate bullshit was yet another memory from college I’d hoped to leave behind. I grabbed my backpack and slung it over my shoulder, leaving the room without a good-bye to the self-centered psycho I shared the space with.
I ran down the stairs and led Brigit outside, allowing her to take a quick tinkle in the bushes outside the dorm. It was more than I’d allowed for myself and, believe me, nature was calling loud and clear. When the dog paused to sniff the foliage, I had to urge her along. “C’mon, girl!” We had no time to dawdle this morning.
I sprinted to my car, loaded my partner in the back, and aimed for the W1 station, doing nearly twice the speed limit. Jackson was already in her office when I arrived.
“Any luck?” I asked as I careened into her office, out of breath from rushing down the hall.
She made a show of glancing at her watch. “You were supposed to be here a half hour ago.”
“I know. My stupid roommate unplugged my alarm clock.”
“You should’ve activated the alarm on your phone as backup.”
I should have. Ironically, I hadn’t wanted to irritate my roommate with two alarms going off at once.
She picked the dealer’s cell phone up from her desk and held it out to me. “Here you go. There was no match for the prints on the phone. Whoever is selling Molly on campus hasn’t been caught doing it before.”
Dammit! That meant I’d have to spend more time with my stupid roommate, living in a stupid dorm room. Why I’d wanted to take on this undercover gig I could hardly remember. But speaking of my roommate … “Did you get the fingerprint analysis back? On the vitamin C bottle?”
She gave a quick nod. “The only prints were Miranda’s.”
While this news didn’t implicate Emily, it didn’t exactly exonerate her, either. She could still have her own stash somewhere. Maybe she had a PO box, too, and left her pills there until she wanted them. After all, PO boxes were accessible twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
Jackson handed me another flash drive. “Dash cam footage from the gas station. Take a look and report back.” She made a shooing motion with her hand. “Now get back to that library and put that phone back where you found it before you blow this case!”
I turned and ran back out of her office, cursing Emily the entire drive back to the campus. Stupid, selfish girl. She’d made me look unprofessional to my mentor. She was lucky I didn’t have my police baton with me or I’d give her a nice, solid whap with it.
It was 7:42 by the time I put the phone back under the shelf. I’d just returned the Ottoman art book to its place, stood, and taken a couple steps in the direction of the stairs when Emily rounded the end of the row.
“There you are,” she said.
“And here you are,” I snapped. Was she coming to check on her phone? Had she spotted me putting it back? Was she on to me? If so, why not get it out in the open right now? I was sick of her, sick of this case. I just wanted it to be over. I had no weapon or handcuffs with me, but if she was the dealer I’d tie her wrists together with Brigit’s leash and take her in anyway.
“Look,” she said, a pained expression on her face. “I came to find you because I felt bad about unplugging your clock. I brought you a peace offering.” With that, she reached into her backpack and pulled out a banana nut muffin wrapped in a napkin.
“Are you sure that’s the only reason you’re here?”
She looked taken aback. “What do you mean?”
I gave her a good, long stare, assessing her. She looked more confused than guilty. “Never mind.” I took the muffin from her. It was squashed flat and the napkin stuck to it in parts. “Thanks. I’ve got to get to class now.”
I scurried down the stairs, Brigit’s nails scrabbling as she tried to keep up. On my way out the front door, I reached over and tossed the muffin into a garbage can. When I turned to push the door open, I saw Emily standing at the bottom of the stairs, her face droopy with hurt. Had I been too hard on her?
“I’m allergic to nuts!” I called across the way, earning me dirty looks from the library staff but at least Emily’s face brightened.
* * *
I sat in the back corner during my morning class, pretending to be taking notes on my laptop when actually I was watching the dash cam footage from the gas station. The boy from the other videos didn’t appear on the screen. But guess who did.
Paige and Alexa.
They drove up to the pumps in Alexa’s baby-blue VW Beetle convertible, the top down to enjoy the sunshine. After Alexa started the gas pumping, she did exactly what the warning signs tell you not to do and left the pump running while she and Paige went inside. With the poor quality of the dash cam footage, as well as the fact that stacks of beer and sodas inside obfuscated the interior of the store, I couldn’t tell whether the two went into the unisex bathroom. All I could tell for certain was that they emerged with frozen drinks in plastic, dome-top cups.
Had one of them picked up the cash? Or was their visit to the station mere coincidence? The station was the closest one to campus, and catered to student customers, stocking case after case of beer, wine coolers, and hard cider, as well as the usual convenience items like bread, peanut butter, and toothpaste. It would hardly be surprising for a student to stop in. The fact that Alexa filled her tank also lowered my suspicions. She appeared to have come here to fill a need, not just to pick up drug money. Still, it was noteworthy. I texted Detective Jackson and told her what I’d found.
After my morning class wound up, I drove over to check my post office box. Still nothing. I wondered if I’d been taken, if funtimemolly had kept my money with no intention of giving me any drugs. That would mean I’d spent the week working around the clock for nothing. That would suck. Of course I knew investigative work didn’t always come with immediate rewards. In fact, it rarely did. Cases could take weeks, months, or even years before any people were arrested and indictments issued. Call me a blind optimist, but I wasn’t going to let a little thing like harsh realities keep me from hoping for a speedy resolution. Nonetheless, I shot off an e-mail to funtimemolly asking whether my “order” had been sent yet. Too bad I couldn’t track my package like I could when I ordered the latest toys for Brigit online.
I returned to the dorm and sat at a two-person table in the back corner of the dining hall to eat my lunch. I had no interest in company at the moment. I wanted to watch the boys coming and going and see if one of them was the guy from the videos at Tio’s and the mall, the one who seemed vaguely familiar. I saw Logan come and go. Ruby and the dark-haired boy who seemed to be joined at the hip. A few other boys I’d come to recognize. But none of them were the guy in the video. Tomorrow I’d spend some time in the dining halls at the other dorms, see if any of the boys there looked familiar.
After eating dinner together that evening, I took Brigit back home. I couldn’t take her with me to a loud, crowded nightclub, and no way would I leave her in the dorm with my roommate, the emotional time bomb.
“Don’t worry!” Frankie said, scratching that spot at the base of Brigit’s tail that sent the dog into a state of ecstasy. “Zach’s coming over to watch a movie. We’ll take good care of her tonight.”
“Much appreciated,” I told her.
On the TV behind Frankie, one of Senator Sutton’s new campaign ads played. I hadn’t seen the commercial. Emily and I didn’t have a television in our room. Few students did. Most streamed the shows on their computers. Besides, I’d been too busy working the undercover case to watch much TV.
As my gaze moved to the screen, Frankie said, “That commercial has played a dozen times today. I could probably recite it by heart.”
Airtime, especially in the large Dallas–Fort Worth metroplex, didn’t come cheap. Sutton’s campaign must have received quite a few contributions for him to be able to afford that kind of play.
The commercial’s theme focused on Sutton’s skill as a negotia
tor, and showed him shaking hands after brokering agreements with foreign dignitaries, politicians from other parties, and industry leaders. Unlike Sutton’s commercials, which focused on his successes and never even mentioned his competition, Essie’s television campaign was subtly malicious, portraying Sutton as a weak, feeble man who had caved on core issues, rather than recognizing his ability to build consensus and make reasonable compromises. While certainly not as blatant as many attack ads, even her minor mudslinging had dampened my enthusiasm for Essie.
I bent down and gave Brigit a good-bye kiss on the snout. “You be a good girl, okay?”
She wagged her tail and gave me a kiss back.
Returning to the dorm, I sorted through the meager selection of clothes I’d brought with me to try to find something appropriate to wear to Club Bassline. Jeans and a shimmery blouse with sandals? A ruffled knit miniskirt and tank top with heels? Capris with a strapless floral print top and wedges? I carried my selections through the bathroom. The door to the adjoining room was ajar, lively getting-ready-to-go-out music playing from within, Katy Perry if I wasn’t mistaken.
I rapped on their door. “I need help deciding what to wear!” I called through the crack.
“Come on in!” Alexa called. “We’ll set you straight.”
“Which outfit?” I asked, holding each one up in turn. “This one, this one, or this one?”
Alexa pointed to the floral top. “That’s my favorite.”
“Ugh, no!” Paige said. “She’s wearing the miniskirt and heels.”
Alexa frowned at Paige’s presumptive veto, but didn’t argue with her.
“Thanks!” I said. “I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”
I dressed, applied enough makeup to equip a half-dozen clowns, and floofed up my hair. As I put on my jewelry, Emily returned to the room. “We’re going to Club Bassline. Want to join us?”
“Who’s ‘we’?” she asked.
“Me, Alexa, and Paige.”
