Death of the Naked Lady by Marlene Chabot

Author:Marlene Chabot
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Marlene Chabot
Published: 2016-04-11T16:00:00+00:00

~23~

Thursday

Trudy Almquist called around nine last night and said her second hour class on Thursday had been cancelled. If I wanted to catch her at the dorm, it would have to be then.

No problem. “I get up by eight when I’m not working,” I told her tongue-in cheek.

The minute I showed up on Cousin Lizzie’s doorstep and announced my plans for after breakfast, Aunt Zoe begged to tag along, like the excursion to UMD was another exotic adventure. But I stood my ground. This time I insisted on going by myself. If Trudy felt too many people were beating down her path, she might get skittish.

Cousin Lizzie pointed to the cupboard under the kitchen sink. “Well, Mary, if you must go by yourself, at least take the heavy duty 6 volt flashlight I keep down there. I always say a weighty purse makes a handy whacking weapon.”

I wasn’t too keen on the flashlight theory. With my luck, I’d probably be the one conked on the head. But then again, it‘s safer than packing a pistol. I got up from the table and retrieved the flashlight.

As soon as I finished the frozen waffles and sausage on my plate, I said, “Adios,” and took off. No dishwater hands for me this morning. Yippee. There are definite benefits to sleuthing.

Trudy’s scheduled free time worked out splendidly. Morning work traffic had already wound its dutiful way through Duluth’s major arteries: London Road and Interstate 35. Twelve minutes later, I found myself in Burntside Hall, one of the dormitories we happened to walk past on Sunday. As I walked down the hall towards Trudy’s room on the first floor, I reminisced about my own college days at Saint Cloud State University, fifteen years ago, and couldn’t help but notice the young women students bustling past me today. They appeared to be as lively a bunch as my old freshmen classmates and me. Apparently some things never change. Too bad my friends and I can’t turn back the clock and savor those moments again, minus the exams.

When I finally came upon Trudy’s room, located near the end of the hall, I found the door slightly ajar and the college student I came to see bent over her desk studying intently. Not wanting to scare her, I knocked softly.

“Enter at your own risk,” the lone girl studiously stated, continuing to be engrossed in the books spread out before her on a small, two-drawer maple-colored desk situated under a lofted bed I waited to see if she’d check out her intruder, me, but she didn’t. Obviously, the ball was in my court. “Excuse me. This is Trudy Almquist’s room, isn’t it?”

“Ah huh.” She spun around. An anemic-looking blonde with stringy shoulder length hair stared back at me. She wore slim-fitting jeans and a UMD sweatshirt. “Oh, sorry I ignored you, Miss Malone. I’ve got a history test tomorrow and I’m trying to cram. When you knocked, I thought it was one of the other girls coming in to borrow my blow dryer.

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