Calamity Jayne Goes to College Read Online Free PDF Page A

ladies," Patrick said, putting his hands out in a don't-shoot position. "But given the nature
     of the crimes we're dealing with, and what Frankie said about the little description victims provided, it seems more likely
     that we're dealing with a guy. But if it makes you feel any better, ladies, you'll be happy to know that I'm an equal opportunity
     law enforcer. I'll keep an open mind," he advised with a wink. "Of course, it goes without saying that if you do this 'covert
     research,' you need to operate in pairs," he told us. "You're looking for someone with a criminal agenda here. Don't ever
     forget that."
    I felt some of my appetite shrivel at Dawkins's advisory. In my excitement over finding a compelling topic to investigate,
     I'd neglected to consider there might actually be an element of danger. Silly me.
    "There's one of our classmates now," Frankie said, keeping his eyes averted from the person in question so as not to attract
     attention. "And he seems to be watching us rather closely."
    "Where? Where?" I said, craning my neck to look around.
    "Oh, good grief," Dixie snorted. "Did you miss the word 'covert' in Dawkins's presentation just now? You might as well slap
     a big sign on your forehead that says 'I've got my beady eyes on you!'" she said.
    I slouched down in my chair, feeling somewhat chastened. I was still new to all this espionage-type stuff. To make matters
     more difficult, I was pretty much a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of girl. And let's face it. I'd never been very good
     at watching my p's and q's--whatever that entails.
    "At the table. Near the condiments," Frankie said, keeping his eyes on the people at our table. "His name is Trevor Childers.
     He's wearing a brown bomber jacket, khaki-colored baggy carpenters, and an orange-and-tan-striped shirt.
    I ran a hand down the back of Frankie's head, trying to discover the eyes there. "How'd you do that?" I asked.
    Frankie shrugged. "It's a gift," he said. "Besides, I noticed what he was wearing in class earlier today. A very tasteful,
     well-coordinated, and accessorized ensemble."
    It was Dawkins who winced this time, and I figured he'd never heard a prospective cop talk like that. He was probably hoping
     for something more along the lines of: "There was just something about the dirtbag that got this copper's radar hummin' like a son of a bitch. "
    Or maybe not.
    "What should we do?" I asked Dawkins. "Go over and ask him his zodiac sign?"
    "Yeah, you do that, Turner," Dixie said. "The rest of us could use a good laugh."
    "Got a mirror?" I asked. "That's quicker."
    "He's pretty much a loner in class," Frankie went on. "Rarely talks or interacts with anyone. Seldom adds to the discussion.
     Just sits and takes notes."
    Personally, I didn't think this qualified as particularly suspicious. After all, it was almost a carbon copy of what I did
     in class most days. Minus the notes. And my little catnaps, of course.
    "Don't a lot of serial stalkers and killers keep to themselves?" Frankie asked Patrick. "You know. Antisocial. Emotionally
     shuttered. Incapable of real human connection and attachment?"
    I stared at Frankie. "Have you been reading about Ted Bundy again?" I asked.
    "FBI psychological profiling," he answered. I frowned.
    About that time Trooper Dawkins's radio squawked, and he pressed the microphone clipped to his shoulder tab and responded.
    "I've got to go," he said, picking his hat up and putting it on his head, then securing the back strap. "Ten fifty P.D."
    "Motor vehicle accident. Property damage," Dixie and Frankie translated in unison. I looked at them. With these two around,
     I'd never need to memorize ten codes.
    "Frankie, I'll give you a call and we'll get together to head out to the academy obstacle course. I'll put you two through
     your paces," he said. "We'll have you lean and mean by the time the selection process rolls around."
    My ears perked up. "Obstacle course?" I questioned. "Sweet!" This sounded entertaining.