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  As we got closer to the salon, Russ scowled and had enough sense to at least hesitate for a few seconds before admitting, “My wife says I’m a renaissance man who is in touch with his feminine side.”

  “I think she was calling you a pussy, Russ.”

  “Ya think?” He made a face and scratched his square jaw. “I wondered that myself.”

  “Definitely. In fact, are you sure you can handle Smelly?” We stepped off the curb. “He’s sort of a macho dog.” I glanced down at Smelly, my fifteen-pound mutt that Russ was tugging along on a leash.

  I found him underweight and smelling to high heaven, lying in a pile of washed up fish at the beach. When he tried to follow me home, I accidentally ran over him. I got out of my Mustang to assess the damage and looked into those sad, helpless eyes and couldn’t help but take him in. Russ, not Smelly. Smelly I got from the pound for twenty-five bucks.

  Russ had just gone through a nasty breakup, been kicked out of his girlfriend’s apartment, and was coming off a three-day, pity party, bender. I decided to help. I’d been there myself ... well, not the smelly part. Or the sleeping in putrid fish part. Or ... okay, I hadn’t exactly been there. But I’d broken his arm when I ran him over and didn’t want to get sued.

  “I can handle your mucho macho dog,” Russ insisted, rolling his eyes. “Smelly and I understand each other.”

  Now that I believed. On occasion they both had gas that could fell a rhino, they were lovable in an annoying sort of way, and each would rather spend the day at the beach than anywhere else. That was more in common than many human best friends had.

  “Tomorrow’s the big day, right?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Yep. You sure you can keep him out of trouble while I work this new bizarre case?” I was talking to Smelly and I could tell Russ knew that when he stuck his tongue out at me. When he abruptly stopped walking and starting licking his own crotch—Smelly, not Russ—I took that as his agreement.

  I had finished the few odds and ends from my last case three days ago. Lord help me, just in time for the first day of school. I had already received a new wardrobe, which I hated and would give to my eighteen-year-old niece when this job was over, and I had promised not to wear my fake glasses. Today we were walking from my office to one of the most expensive hair salons in San Diego. This was the last step in my little makeover. Thank God I wasn’t paying for this.

  Russ reached down and petted Smelly’s curly brown head as he spoke to me. “I can’t believe we’re walking when you own brand new wheels.”

  “That car is on lease in the Poppenhouses’ name. I don’t own it. Besides, the salon is only another two blocks.”

  He made a low clucking noise. “I noticed you bought a sports car that you could put your board in.”

  “That’s not why I picked a convertible,” I lied. Like I would get new wheels and not take my surf board into consideration?

  A thought seemed to suddenly occur to Russ and he turned his head and frowned at me. “For someone who is going to make a quick score with this job, you don’t seem too happy about it. What gives?”

  I shrugged and stuck my hands in the pockets of my denim shorts. How could I explain to a guy like Russ that I felt like I’d sold myself out? A man who I once saw eat twenty-seven hotdogs in twelve minutes just to win an Igloo cooler that was worth all of about seven bucks. “I’m happy,” I said weakly.

  “Sure you are.” He gave me a meaningful look. “You’re thinking too much, that’s what you’re doing. I’d shave my head bald for ten thousand a week. Hell, I’d shave your head for that much.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “I told the Poppenhouses that I would dress in drag and move in with their daughter myself. But Mr. Poppenhouse looked like he was about to blow a gasket and so I offered up your name rather than be murdered in my office.”

  I socked Russ lightly on the bicep, thinking that he was more like a sibling to me than my own brother, who I rarely see. “And here I thought I got the referral because you thought I was such a good detective.” I pantomimed stabbing myself. “You cut me, Russ. You cut me deep.”

  “Aw, Belinda.” He had the grace to look at least a little chagrined. “You know I think you’re good.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I cupped my hands over my eyes to shield them from the bright afternoon sun and glanced up at a green canvas awning that simply read “Gregory’s.” I swallowed hard, hoping that Mrs. Poppenhouse’s instructions to the stylist weren’t going to leave me looking like a blond version of that demented fucker Carrot Top. God, I hate my job. “Oh, boy.”

  Russ slapped me on the back, ignoring Smelly’s protective growl. “Good luck.”

  I rocked back on the heels of my huarache sandals and gathered my nerve. “Time to go get beautiful, I guess.”

  Russ’s gaze softened as I stepped inside the salon. As the door closed behind me, leaving my two friends to wait in the late summer breeze, I heard him mumble, “Too late.”

  Chapter Two

  After driving through Santa Medina, a sleepy tourist community consisting mostly of shops and small eateries that serviced the industrious day hikers who walked the Topa Topa Mountains, I pulled up outside St. Bridgid’s Residence Village. It was Saturday and school would start in just two days. But that wasn’t much time to move in, get books and look like a real student, and most importantly, start making inroads with Keilana.

  I glanced around. This is what they were calling campus housing? Where were the piles of discarded boxes? Where were the blaring radios and half-clad guys rushing by on skateboards?

  I took off my sunglasses and slid them into the pocket of a pair of jeans that cost nearly as much as my first car. I sat there, waiting to be accosted by some slimy-looking guy offering me a MasterCard at twenty-one percent interest and a free Frisbee and T-shirt just for applying. But it never happened. I spun in a circle, feeling the breeze on the base of the back of my newly-exposed neck. “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”

  I grunted my approval at the series of tiny, stucco, red-roofed cottages that comprised this part of campus housing. They were linked together by a network of stone paths that all intersected at a large fountain. In the center of the fountain was a statue of a fat, bald guy dressed in long robes and holding a bible. Moses, maybe? He didn’t look like Charleston Heston, though, so I figured it had to be someone else.

  Short, but lush trees planted around each cottage added a sense of privacy to the property. “Nice.” I craned my head, looking down one of the paths, but could only see as far as cottage 11 . Keilana Poppenhouse lived in cottage number 12 .

  I exited my new Jaguar convertible, still taking in my surroundings with a note of awe. I’d seen places like this on television, but that hadn’t prepared me for the pristine, collegiate atmosphere I was experiencing first hand. There was one thing out of place in this Norman Rockwell campus though. The place was practically crawling with nuns and priests. I’d heard once there was a shortage of nuns and priests. And looking around today, I knew why. They were all here.

  I could only hope that they sensed that I was an unchaste, unrepentant sinner at heart and they’d stay far, far away from me during my time here. I was supposed to be a senior and by now I should have been brainwashed ... err ... I mean instructed on religion for years and years now. I was a little worried that my ecclesiastical ignorance was going to blow my cover so I resolved to keep as low a profile as possible.

  Most of the students, who were huddled in small groups, their heads tilted together in conversation, were clean-cut and reeked of old money. And despite my new duds and expensive haircut, I couldn’t have felt more out of place.

  “Hey.” A group of girls walked over to me, obviously checking out my new car.

  “Hi,” I said brightly, reminding myself to be sociable and do my best to try and fit in. It was breezy and I ran my fingers through my now-shaggy hair, smoothing it self-consciously.

  A short blonde stepped forward from the gro
up. “Do you need help with your bags?” She inclined her head toward my passenger seat and back seats, which were loaded down with two suitcases and a few medium-sized boxes that were packed ridiculously full.

  She and her friends looked just like the girls in high school who wouldn’t have spit on me if I were on fire. And a sense of wariness borne of experience washed over me. I glanced at how far the buildings were from the parking lot. Then I breathed a fake sigh of relief. “That would be great. Thanks.” I extended my hand, half expecting to be snubbed. “I’m ... Bel—” Okay, try that again. “I’m Cadie.”

  “I’m Shauna.” The girl cocked her head to the side, her eyes sweeping up and down my clothes. I cursed inwardly when I found myself straightening my posture in pure reflex. Despite the women we all eventually become, I guess a little part of us will always be sixteen. Bleck.

  “You’re new, right?” Shauna asked absently. She popped her gum and waved at another girl who was just pulling into the parking lot. The campus had only about four hundred students, so I figured that everyone pretty much knew everyone else.

  I nodded and dutifully repeated part of the history I’d made up for myself. “A transfer student from UC Irvine, yeah. This is my first day here.”

  “Cool.” The girls standing behind Shauna echoed her words. They had yet to speak to me directly.

  I grappled for something to say. “Do you live here?”

  She gave me a strange look. “Duh. But not in St. Bridgid’s. I live in the St. Catherine’s complex over there.” She pointed over her shoulder and winked at me. “That one is co-ed. Here, let me help.”

  I had to keep from bursting out laughing when she began picking up my boxes and bags and distributing them to her pack of friends. When she was through, her own hands were left empty and she wiped her forehead as though she’d just run a marathon.

  “Okay, which house are you in?” she asked quickly. Her generous spirit, it seemed, was on a short timer.

  “I tugged a tattered piece of paper from my glove box and made a show of looking confused. I think I’m in 10 , no 12 . Yeah, 12 . Maybe you know my roommate? Ke.. Ke.. Keilana Poppenhouse.”

  My words were met with a round of gasps, then pale, sour faces. I heard the word “bitch” and worse mumbled by several of the girls. Well, well, Keilana, it seems, wasn’t Ms. Popularity.

  “You can’t be living in 12 ,” a pudgy Asian girl blurted. “Pamela Anderson lives with Keilana. They’ve been roommates since freshman year. There is no way—”

  Shauna glared at the suddenly verbose girl and slapped a hand over her mouth. “I thought we agreed that her name would never be spoken again?”

  My eyes widened at Shauna’s rigid tone.

  “Sorry,” Pudgy squeaked contritely, looking as though she might burst into tears. “I forgot.”

  “So long as you don’t do it again,” Shauna reminded, enunciating every word with deliberate slowness.

  I lifted my eyebrows at the display of dominance. I hadn’t seen one so blatant since my last trip to the zoo. “I umm ... I think I remember them telling me at the admissions office that one of the girls living in number 12 got an out-of-state- scholarship. Now that you mention it, the name Pamela Anderson does sound familiar.” Okay, everything about Pamela Anderson was familiar. I’d accidentally seen the Pam/Tommy Lee porn video online. Six or sevens times. What? Like you weren’t curious.

  “Lucky Pam,” Shauna ground out, her lips thin. Imperiously, she began marching down one of the paths and her friends were quick to follow.

  I had to jog to catch up. “What do you mean, lucky Pam?” I fell in step alongside her as we passed the fountain. “Is there something about my roommate that I should know?”

  Shauna smirked. “You’ll see.”

  “Do you know Keilana?” I persisted; I was on the clock.

  Shauna’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I know the whore all right! You should stay far away from her.”

  I blinked. “How can I do that? She’s my roommate.”

  Shauna stopped dead in her tracks and gave me an incredulous look. “Be that way then.” She pointed to a spot on the grass. “Here, girls. We don’t need to waste any more of my time. Let’s go.”

  In less than five seconds my boxes and bags were unceremoniously dumped on the ground and the she-pack, including Shauna, was halfway back to the fountain. I frowned at their sudden departure. With them left my first chance at being able to pump someone who knew Keilana for information.

  “See ya,” I called out and couldn’t stop myself from adding, “assholes” in a voice loud enough to get half of campus looking my way. A few nuns crossed themselves and I felt a mixture of juvenile pride and chagrin at my antics. I knew I was acting like a big baby, but in only a few moments those girls had managed to bring a million bad feelings to the surface. I sighed. Thank God I wasn’t actually going through all this again. Growing up was bad enough the first time.

  When my stuff had been carelessly dumped on the lawn, one of my cardboard boxes had burst open and the breeze was now tossing some of my clothes around. Nothing like having to chase your bra down the street in front of the God squad and a bunch of snotty kids.

  Bra in hand, I tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear and made my way back to my boxes. I dropped to my knees and began gathering my things. At least nobody had stolen anything while I was chasing my undies across the lawn. That was one good thing about an expensive school. No one wanted to steal used panties.

  Suddenly another set of hands appeared in front of my face and lifted up one of my intact boxes. “Want some help?” I heard from somewhere above me. The voice was velvety smooth and deep and I might have found it nice if I wasn’t already in such a crappy mood.

  “No thanks,” I muttered, grabbing a tank top and stuffing it down into the box. I didn’t bother to look up. The last thing I needed was to square off against some snobby member of the Welcome Wagon.

  A gentle laugh. “You must be a pretty big klutz to have made such a mess.”

  I continued my repacking, stuffing a pair of jeans into a box with a little more force than was necessary. “Thank you for noticing.”

  “You’re new here.”

  No shit. “Really?”

  She laughed again and adjusted the box in her hands so she could dangle a pair of my black panties before my eyes. I reached for them, but she pulled them away at the last second, just the way that Lucy always yanked the football away from Charlie Brown. I fought the urge to bare my teeth and growl, then I caught sight of exactly which panties they were and had to bite back a groan instead. Oh, crap. They were a pair that Russ had given me a couple of years ago as a joke. They were so raunchy that I’d refused to wear them. I didn’t know I still had them. I’d just grabbed a few handfuls of underwear while I was packing.

  “Slutty undies.” She hummed something that sounded suspiciously like approval. “You’re not a hooker by chance?”

  “Do you need a hooker?”

  “Is that a yes?”

  I’d had enough. “Do I look like a fuckin’ hooker, Rich-Bitch Betty co-ed?”

  “I dunno.” I could hear the smirk in her voice and it set my teeth on edge. “Maybe.”

  I finally successfully snatched the panties from her hand and glanced up to see what the next version of Shauna would look like. But the sun was setting directly behind her and I had to shield my eyes.

  “You look like you have all the right parts for the job,” she continued blithely.

  This girl was a real piece of work. My words hadn’t had any impact on her at all.

  “You might not be a working girl,” she chuckled, “but you certainly could be.”

  “My parents would be so proud. In fact, maybe I’ll drop out of school today and call Heidi Fleiss. What’s her number? I’m sure you have it handy.”

  “Are you going to cottage 12 ?” She didn’t sound happy about that prospect. Great, another fan of Keilana. And this one was changing subjects so quickly that my
head was starting to spin.

  I picked up a few pairs of socks, holding one in my teeth as I tried to get one side of the lid on the box closed again. “If you must know, the answer is yes. But I’ll save you the trouble of telling me that my new roommate, Keilana Poppenwhatever, is a whore-bitch. Because I’ve already heard.” I spat out my socks and stood up to tell whomever this annoying person was to get lost once and for all.

  When I rose, I was greeted by a pair of icy blue eyes that actually sent a shiver down my spine. Uh-oh. I realized that I must have been wrong about her feelings for Keilana. Maybe the subject of my investigation actually had a friend. If that was true, then it was time to get serious.

  The girl was burning holes through my body with her glare that could smelt copper. She was thin and a few inches taller than me with thick dark brown hair. She had skin so fair that I doubted she’d been outside for more than ten minutes the entire summer. Her face was heart-shaped and she had a stronger jaw than most women. She wasn’t as conventionally beautiful as she was striking, and despite the haphazard way she had her hair twisted on top of her head, all I could think was how hot she was.

  “You’re staring,” she said, clearly annoyed.

  Oops. “About what I just said ...” I motioned to my things on the ground. “I’m afraid my first day here isn’t going very well. So ... you’re a friend of Keilana’s, right?” I stuck out my hand. “I’m Cadie Blaisdell.” It’s really true that the more lies you tell, the easier it gets.

  The young woman’s back straightened and she hefted the box she was holding high above her head. In disbelief, I watched her turn the box upside down and dump my clothes and a handful of CDs all over me. “What the fuck?” I batted away a pair of shorts that was hanging from my shoulder. “Jesus Christ!”

  “Wrong both times,” she said, her voice low and angry. “My name is Keilana Poppenwhatever. Most folks call me Lana. You can just call me whore-bitch.”