Free The Bride Wore Size 12 by Meg Cabot Page A

all these buses parked outside, and kids getting onto them.”
    Suddenly I remember.
    “Oh God.” I put a hand to my mouth. “Casino Night.” I’d totally forgotten.
    “ What night?” Eva asks.
    “Casino Night.” I shake my head. “It’s part of orientation week for the new students. All the kids are being taken on a harbor cruise around Manhattan for mocktails and gambling. Not real gambling, of course, there’s no cash involved, they win prizes like New York College sweatshirts and other swag.”
    Eva shakes her head. “Things have certainly changed from when I went to college. We thought it was cool when they gave us free hot dogs to grill over a hibachi in the quad. Now you people take them on cruises around Manhattan.”
    “Well,” I say. “Hibachis aren’t allowed anymore, because they’re considered a fire hazard.”
    Eva rolls her eyes. “Of course. We wouldn’t want any of them learning a skill that might actually come in handy someday, such as barbecuing, would we?” She throws Special Agent Lancaster a narrow-eyed glance. “When my boy Ramon gets here you’ll let him through, right, 007? Or are you going to shoot him?”
    Special Agent Lancaster eyes her. Is it my imagination, or is he smiling a little? If so, it would be a first.
    “That depends,” he says drily. “Your boy Ramon have ID?”
    “No,” Eva replies sarcastically. “He likes to roam around the city with body bags and a gurney for fun.”
    I’ve sunk down onto the bed opposite Jasmine’s body, feeling a little queasy, and hope it’s because of the situation—or the tuna salad sandwich I hastily grabbed for lunch from the dining hall—and not because I’ve picked up Lisa’s flu. It’s close to five o’clock, and all I want to do is go home, crawl into bed, and stay there, preferably with my dog, Cooper, some popcorn, the remote, and a large alcoholic beverage. Maybe not in that order.
    “Looks like you lucked out this time.” Eva’s conversational tone rouses me from my fantasy of a vodka-and-cheese-popcorn-soaked Say Yes to the Dress marathon. “No blood spatter or body fluids for your housekeeping crew to have to clean up. God, we couldn’t believe how many messy ones you guys had last year. Those girls in the elevator shafts? Oh, and the head in the pot in the cafeteria? Man, that one took the prize.”
    “I’d have preferred not to be eligible for that contest, especially not this year,” I say weakly. “It’s freshman orientation week right now.”
    “I see what you mean.” Eva is raising the dead girl’s eyelids to examine her pupils. “It’s kind of early to say what the cause of death is without tox screens, but I don’t see any sign of trauma. You find any prescription pill bottles lying around?”
    I’m not surprised by the question. Prescription drug overdose, we were told at an incredibly boring drug-and-alcohol-awareness training session over the summer, is one of the leading causes of death for young adults (after accidents). Someone dies of a prescription pill overdose every nineteen minutes in this country.
    “No.” Surprisingly, it’s Special Agent Lancaster who replies. “There’s a bottle of Tylenol in her medicine cabinet.” He nods toward 1416’s bathroom. Unlike many residence halls, all rooms in Fischer Hall have private baths. The building once housed floor-through apartments for some of Manhattan’s wealthiest socialites. Few of the architectural details of those days remain (except in the lobby and cafeteria, which used to be a ballroom), but residents don’t have to go down the hallway to shower. “But it still has the protective seal on it.”
    Eva nods as if this is what she expects to hear. She’s feeling the victim’s jaw. “She’s been dead at least twelve hours. Probably passed away last night sometime around . . . I’m going to say three in the morning. She have any preexisting conditions that you knew of?”
    “Asthma, according to her student