“Miss Sanderson,” Randall Steigmeister bellowed grandly from his office doorway. “I am ready to see you.”
“Thank you,” I said, watching him try to take charge of the situation. I noticed his secretary discreetly glance down at her work in disgust as he snatched his mail from the basket on the edge of her desk. I was unsure if that look was aimed at me or him. “Hold my calls, Mrs. Sword.”
“Yes, sir.”
“This way, please. I’m a very busy man and I’ve a tight schedule today. I hope this meeting will be brief.”
“That depends on you, Professor Steigmeister.” I smiled brightly and followed a slightly put out idiot into his domain.
“So what can I do for you?”
“First of all, thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice. The research I’ve done on you is very impressive and I feel quite sure this meeting is merely a formality.” I smiled and squirmed nervously in my chair. His delight at my apparent inadequacy spurred me to drop and scatter all my papers on the floor. “Oh,” I gasped. “I’m so sorry.”
I quickly and awkwardly gathered my paperwork with no help from the now more confident pompous ass sitting across from me.
“There, there, young lady,” he admonished, checking his watch. “Are you new to this, Miss Sanderson?”
“A bit,” I stammered.
“Let’s proceed. I am a very busy man.”
“Of course. How long have you been a professor at the university?”
“Twenty-two years,” he said. “Fourteen have been as a tenured scholar. I feel my mission in life is to open the minds of the population to the miracles of Jesus.”
“Do you teach only Christian Religious Studies?” Had I read his dossier wrong?
“No.” He laughed heartily and condescendingly at my question. “No, I cover world religions and the history thereof. I have a special relationship with Jesus, so that seems to permeate my rhetoric.”
Taking in his office, I noticed the rather violent religious art he seemed to favor. All Christian.
“Congratulations, that’s like, wow. And how long have you been acquainted with Professor Lumpschlicterschmidt?”
His nose wrinkled in disgust and his eyes narrowed slightly. “What is this interview about?” he demanded. “I thought you were here from the University Paper.”
“No sir.” Was he serious? “I’m from the DEA and you’ve been tapped as a possible suspect in some threats on the life of Professor Lumpschlicterschmidt.”
“What?” he shrieked. “That’s preposterous! What is she up to now?” He jumped up and paced the room. His bulbous middle strained against his several sizes too small faux suede elbow patched jacket.
“Please have a seat,” I said. “This won’t take long unless you refuse to cooperate.”
“I’ve made no threats on her life,” he hissed. “Yes, I have actively campaigned to have her removed from the university, but I would never lower myself to illegal or immoral means.”
I partially believed him—he did have his own super special relationship with Jesus—but his nervous manner and beginnings of flop sweat meant he hadn’t laid out the entire story. Sanctimonious asses like him bored me to tears. Give me a Porno Granny any day.
“What exactly do you have against Professor Sue’s work?”
“Have you read it?” he yelled, turning an unflattering red. “It’s filth. She is making millions off degrading filth and is dragging the reputation of this fine establishment into the gutter with her.”
“Have you read it?” I asked.
“Of course not. I wouldn’t dirty my hands with base pornography,” he snapped, quite self-satisfied with his insult to Shoshanna’s work.
“It seems to me you don’t have much of an argument if you’ve not read the material you’re so adamantly against,” I stated calmly, and waited for him to bury himself a little deeper.
“I don’t need to. It speaks for itself.”
“I’m sure there are others who would agree with you.”
“You have no idea. The integrity of an institution is only as solid as its faculty and board.”
I nodded seriously and took a few notes. He relaxed, comfortable in my silent agreement with his philosophy, and played with his fountain pen. I wondered if all the parents paying big bucks for their children to be enlightened knew what kind of douchebags were doing the educating. He had no computer on his desk or any electronics other than a phone. Interesting.
“Do you teach any online courses?” I queried.
“Why? Are you interested?” He perked back up, assuming I was on board with his assessment of high moral standards.
“Possibly.”
“Well, no. I don’t. I don’t believe in computers and such. They are instruments of Satan. Creativity and true thought come from the hand. The hand God blessed us with. I only accept handwritten work and I grade exclusively with a quill pen,” he announced proudly.
Jesus Christ, this imbecile didn’t know how to use a computer.
“I see that you’re published, Professor Steigmeister. Certainly you didn’t handwrite your thesis.”
“Oh, but I did. Typing is what graduate assistants are for.”
I was sure his grad assistants would be delighted to hear that. Much as I didn’t like the jackoff sitting across from me, I didn’t think he was truly a suspect anymore. He didn’t have the technical skills to have produced the untraceable notes we’d received. His religious views were troubling considering the moral tone of the letters, but . . . time to fuck with him.
“What can you tell me about BDSM?”
“I’m sorry, what?” he blustered, and turned a much deeper shade of red. “I have no idea what you are speaking of.”
Oh, but he who protests . . .
“Bondage, discipline, dominance, submission?”
“Really, Miss . . . Miss Sanderson! Your point?” he demanded imperiously.
“Abrasion, animal play, wax play, butt plugs?”
“Enough!” He was now a mottled purple, but strangely turned on by the terms. Evidenced by the erection that he tried to hide. God. Gross.
“You’ve read her books,” I told him. “I think you take issue with her income. I think you know far more about BDSM than you’d ever let on. I believe your soapbox is rickety and jealousy can destroy people. I’d suggest you look up the word hypocrite.”
“You need to leave immediately.”
“I’m leaving.” I smiled and handed him my card. “Don’t leave town. Does your secretary type your correspondence?”
“Of course she does.”
“Have a lovely day, Professor.”
As I strolled casually out of his office, he shouted, “You can’t possibly think I have anything to do with this.”
I stopped and turned. “Actually, I don’t, but I’d suggest you end your campaign against Professor Sue. It would be just awful if your peccadillos came to light. Jesus would be terribly disappointed.”
Feeling nauseous yet strangely invigorated, I left his office and made my way down the hall to my next appointment. Mrs. Sword had happily handed over her hard drive. Normally I’d need a subpoena but a smile and a request did wonders when people didn’t like their boss. No, I didn’t think he’d written the notes, but I was fairly sure he’d back off his hate campaign against Shoshanna. I’d played a little out of the box, but who cared? Hopefully not Steve. My boss was very aware of my people skills, or lack thereof. I was getting the job done, and that was ultimately all that mattered. Right? Right. Plus, it was kind of fun. It was amazing to realize I was still useful when there wasn’t someone with a bag of drugs and an Uzi pointed at my head. One down. One to go.
“Hi, I’m here to see Professor Junsen,” I told the gender-ambiguous secretary. Was it a man or a woman? I couldn’t tell.
“She’ll be with you in a moment.”
The voice gave no clue as to sexual identity. I covertly scanned for breasts, but the shirt was too baggy. Fuck, thi
s was going to drive me nuts. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“Because I didn’t give you one,” it stated logically, and rolled its eyes at me.
“Hmm, you’re correct.” I didn’t like the attitude and there was no way I could leave without figuring this out, so I flipped my badge and played my advantage. “Name?”
“Pat.”
I almost barked with laughter, but I bit down on my lip. Hard.
“Is that a nickname?” I asked.
“Nope.”
Fine, I was out of line. I despised not knowing things. My training was so ingrained, I had a hell of a time leaving stones unturned. But I was being rude. Pat’s gender was none of my business and had nothing to do with my case. I shut my pie hole and waited. Damn, that was hard.
A buzzer went off on Pat’s desk and Pat slapped it like a mosquito. “Professor Junsen will see you now.”
“Thank you,” I muttered still trying to unravel the Pat mystery. Oh well, some things were probably left better alone.
Professor Winnifred Junsen’s office was just as offensive as Randal Steigmeister’s, but in a vastly different manner. The walls were littered with feminist slogans and nude line drawings of what appeared to be very angry lesbians. WTF? There was clutter everywhere and an enormous pile of bras in the corner.
“I’d say nice to meet you, but from what I understand, you just terrorized a colleague of mine,” Professor Junsen snapped from behind a massive desk. She was clad in some kind of muumuu and her short graying hair stood on end.
“Well, word certainly travels fast.” Fast was an understatement. “I’m not one for feminine social graces. From my research, I’d assume you’d be quite comfortable with that.”
Her laughter was grating and she came around her desk with an outstretched hand and tits flying in the wind. I almost suggested she grab a bra from the pile in the corner, but remembered she’d been disciplined for a bra-burning party on the football field. Wonderful. As I shook her hand, her unharnessed bosom actually hit my wrist. Our height difference and her inability to put her arms to her sides due to her rotundness made her braless state dangerous to others.
“So how can I help you?” she asked as she plopped down on a chair, legs spread and boobs swinging. She was a slob.
Holy hell, I was no Polly Priss, but disgusting was disgusting.
“Since you’ve been briefed by your colleague, I’ll just get to it. How well do you know Professor Sue and what issues do you have with her being a best-selling author? Or is there more of an issue that she’s aced you out in the awards department?” I sat back and focused on her face. I usually watched for body language, but I was in danger of making insulting observations if her badoinkees didn’t stop bouncing. Evangeline would be horrified. Just the thought brought a smile to my lips.
“I’m glad to see your interruption of my day amuses you. You’re barking up the wrong tree here. I take no issue with her porno smut anti-female-power fuck musings. I am a better professor and educator than she is and I believe she has paid off the board with her fornication-prose sin money to be awarded so many accolades.”
Was she for real? “I’m sorry. Your choice of words is alarming on a few levels. You’re not helping your case much, Professor.”
“I don’t have to,” she grunted. “My brilliance and my dedication to the advancement of women will win in the end.”
“How long have you been at the university?”
“Ten years. Tenured for one,” she informed me proudly.
“And how many awards have you won?” I asked. She sat there and stared daggers at me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
“None,” she groused.
“Interesting. When was the last time you corresponded with Professor Sue?”
“I don’t. I have nothing to say to her. What do you want from me?”
“I want to know if you’re jealous and deranged enough to write threatening letters to Professor Sue,” I patiently explained. “I thought your buddy Randy might have filled you in on that little nugget?”
“What police department do you come from?” she demanded, grabbing a pen and paper.
“I don’t. I come from the DEA and I usually deal with drug shipments and cartels and fucktards with machine guns. I’m taking a little breather because I thought it might be fun. Here’s my card. You can call my boss or I can take you down to his office right now and you can meet him. We can have this meeting in a little room with two-way mirrors and armed guys who don’t like feminists as much as I do. Your choice.”
Winnie blanched and dropped her pen and paper and did a full three/sixty. “I wouldn’t hurt her,” she gasped desperately. “Ever. I plan to beat her fair and square. She rebuffed my sexual advances and I hate her, but I still love her and will make her pay academically.”
I was struck dumb. Of all the things she could have said, that was not remotely what I expected.
“You’re the last suspect on my list and you haven’t made a promising case for your innocence,” I said in a pinched voice, trying not to throw up in my mouth. “Spurned wannabe lover on probation for a bizarre bra-burning extravaganza. You probably need the awards you and Sue are up for to keep your job.”
“Take me downtown,” she pleaded.
“Wait. What?” I so did not want her in my car.
“I’ll take a lie detector test.” Holy hell, she was serious. “I thought if I burned the bras, Sue would be impressed and find me more attractive. I don’t give a damn about the awards or my job,” Winnie blubbered hysterically. “I just want her to go out on a date with me.”
She was now in tears. Her body shook, which did unmentionable things to her bosom and forced me to look at the ceiling.
“Professor Junsen . . .”
“I love her,” she shrieked. “Why doesn’t she love me back?”
“Well, um . . . I’m fairly sure she’s straight,” I mumbled. What in the hell was I supposed to do here? My apparently profound observation about Shoshanna’s sexual orientation sent Professor Winnie into an even louder round of snot-filled sobbing. Shit. “You just need to find a nice lesbian, who . . . um, you know doesn’t like bras and stuff.”
“Do you find me attractive?” she blubbered.
“I’m straight too,” I said much louder than I intended. “Very straight, but if I wasn’t, I might find you, um . . . or your, um . . . passion for women’s rights somewhat interesting . . . kind of.”
“Really?” she asked hopefully.
“Sure, but can I give you a piece of advice?”
“Yes. Please.”
“You might want to consider wearing a bra.”
“Do you think that would help?” she asked, glancing down at her swinging pendulums.
“Possibly,” I whispered, sure I would burn in hell for lying.
“That’s wonderful. Thank you. Could you do something for me?” she queried, wiping her nose on her muumuu.
“Is it legal?”
“Yes,” she said solemnly. “Would you put in a good word for me with Sue?”
“Um, okay, but I don’t know how much weight I pull.”
Her face lit up and she bear-hugged me, squashing me with those boobs. As much as it grossed me out, I felt a little happy that I’d made her feel better.
“Professor Junsen . . .”
“Call me Winnie,” she insisted.
“Okay . . . Winnie. Do you mind if I take your hard drive? I’ll get it back to you tomorrow.”
“God, no! Take it. You can take Pat’s too. Pat only plays Scrabble on the damn thing.”
Damn it to hell, why hadn’t she used a gender-specific pronoun for Pat? I was never gonna find out what Pat was.
I’d come up empty. None of these suspects had panned out. All the same, I couldn’t say I was disappointed. Well, maybe about Randy, he was an ass-hat, but Evangeline and Winnie . . . I kind of liked them from a distance. A great distance.
Who in the hell was threatening
Shoshanna? I didn’t know right now, but I sure as hell would find out soon. Of that, I had no doubt.
Chapter 11
After the interview weirdness of the day before, I was expecting a break today, but no such luck. I had almost forgotten about my little shopping expedition or I had just blocked it out. As I parked in front of Frisky Business, my butt welded itself to the driver’s seat. I could not go in there. I knew what awaited me—Rena and Kristy. My new friends, armed with a list from Shoshanna detailing the appropriate clothing I would need as her assistant. Fuck . . . Why did this place seem familiar? I racked my brain trying to remember. I was certain I’d never shopped here before and I was certain I didn’t want to shop here now.
If I drove away, I knew they’d come to my house and drag me back. That would be even worse than walking in of my own accord. The hot pink neon flashing light informing all to “Get Your Licks and Lashes Here” was alarming and disgusting. Licks and Lashes? I would confiscate Rena’s and Kristy’s phones the minute I walked in . . . if I walked in. The abrupt knock on my window scared the hell out of me.
“Get your ass out of the car.” Rena stood there grinning like an idiot.
“I told you she’d be out here,” Kristy chimed in. “You owe me forty.”
“Fine,” Rena groaned, “but you owe me thirty from the doughnut bet last week, so I only owe you ten.”
“But you didn’t get the picture of Evangeline at the pokey. That was thirty, so you still owe me forty.”
They both stood there lost in confusion trying to figure out who owed who what. Did I really want to have friends? They seemed like a hell of a lot of work.
“Get out of the fucking car, Candy, or I’ll drag your ass out,” Rena informed me gleefully with her hands planted on her hips.
“And I’ll take pictures,” Kristy threatened, pulling her phone out.
I rolled down my window and stuck my hand out. “Give me your phones.”
“Oh, come on,” Kristy whined. “You’re no fun.”
“Phones,” I snapped.
Reluctantly they handed them over. I put them under my front seat, got out, and locked the doors. “You’ll get them back when we’re done here.”
Cop a Feel (Handcuffs and Happily Ever Afters) Page 10
