Free Stalking Death by Kate Flora Page B

you could see with your experienced professional eye that I was just a lyin' ho. Not that it matters what you say. They already got their minds made up." She turned and left, her long strides carrying her quickly away.
    I watched her go, those broad shoulders so straight it must have hurt. Shondra Jones had come to St. Matthews with a chip on her shoulder. In a little more than a year, the school had turned it into a boulder.

Chapter 7

    I followed my campus map to Cabot Hall, where I was meeting Maria Santoro, the resident advisor Shondra had gone to with the second picture. As I climbed the wide, slightly shabby staircase to the third floor, I thought about other times, other dorms, and how much sameness there was from one campus to another. Some were cleaner, homier, some more modern or more elegant, but they all possessed the same mingled scents of cleaning products, grooming products, pizza and popcorn. Except at times like this, when everyone was in class, there was always the background hum of music, the rush of showers, the rising and falling cadence of voices.
    So far, I'd spotted two staircases, two fire escapes, and a convenient tree, all of which afforded access to the building, as well as all the ground floor windows, and the dorm hadn't been locked. I'd walked in unobserved and climbed two flights of stairs without meeting anyone. On the third floor, searching for Ms. Santoro's room, I'd passed two students and a janitor. No one had challenged me or shown any curiosity about my presence. True, I wasn't male, like Shondra's alleged stalker, but I was a stranger and I looked too young to be someone's parent, even if the last six months had aged me ten years.
    At Ms. Santoro's door, I read the very picky sign about when she could and couldn't be disturbed. Neither welcoming nor supportive of a poor, homesick freshman, never mind the rattled victim of a sadist playing mind games. Dorm residents had to set limits, I knew, but tone made a big difference. Brief as it was, the tone of this note was whiny and petulant. I wondered if the writer was aware of that.
    I raised my hand to knock, imaging Shondra standing here in my place. I could see her anger and her fear—I'd witnessed both of those today—but I didn't have the story yet, so I couldn't imagine what she'd said or how she'd proceeded. I knocked and waited. When nothing happened, I knocked again, harder and louder. I'd asked Craig Dunham to call ahead. She was supposed to be expecting me.
    Finally, a stocky young woman with a peevish face and spiky punk hair snatched the door open and glared up at me. "What's your problem?" she snapped. "Can't you read? I'm not on duty right now. I'm trying to work."
    With those few sentences, she'd put me in Shondra's shoes. I looked down at her with my best predatory smile—the one I learned from the heron about to stab a fish—and said, "Maria Santoro?"
    She hadn't bothered to look at me before, assuming I was one of her young charges. Now she reddened and gave me a slightly apologetic "Yes."
    I stuck out my hand. "Thea Kozak, from EDGE consulting. Todd Chambers has brought us in to assist with the Shondra Jones matter."
    The flush darkened as she opened the door wider and jerked her chin toward the room. "Oh, right. Craig's secretary called with some garbled message about them sending someone over. Come on in."
    I stepped past her into a pig sty. Papers and books littered the floor, warring for space with empty pizza boxes, take-out Chinese cartons and soda cans. Obviously, she didn't believe she was supposed to be a role model, but I was surprised she hadn't made some effort to pick up, knowing the administration was sending someone to see her. She shifted a litter of books and papers off a chair and invited me to sit. I wondered if she even bothered to do that when her visitor was a student or if she left them standing. What I really wondered was why she hadn't been fired long before this? Was the dorm head was paying