I wore the same outfit I’d worn to court the day Christos had been on trial. Black blazer, gray pencil skirt, white blouse, black hose, and black pumps. My makeup was light, just enough to look professional.

The outfit seemed appropriate because now I was the one about to be on trial.

A woman wearing a frumpy business suit opened one of the doors off the hallway and leaned out. “You can come in now,” she said.

She held the door for me as I walked into a conference room. At the far end of the big wooden conference table, Dean Livingston sat at the head, wearing a suit, flanked by an older woman and a middle aged guy. Both wore suits and I assumed they were SDU administrators. Tiffany sat near them, a few seats down. Mr. Selfridge, my old boss from the museum, sat across from Tiffany. With any luck, he would be able to say something that helped my case. The woman who had let me in sat near the door, behind a laptop set up on the conference table.

I nodded at Mr. Selfridge and smiled at him.

He smiled back.

I wasn’t entirely sure where I was supposed to sit. But nobody seemed to be telling me where to go, so I chose a seat closer to the door, not wanting to get too close to Tiffany. Also, If I needed to beat a hasty retreat, I could slip out the door with no one noticing. Not.

At least this wasn’t an actual courtroom with the armed bailiff and the jury and the defense tables and all the rules. Knowing that I had a slight degree of control over things today eased my nerves slightly. It’s not like I would get hauled away in handcuffs if things went badly.

I set my coffee on the table and my book bag on the floor. There was no way I could get through this morning massacre without caffeine. I debated pulling my laptop out, but it’s not like I had case files to review, or whatever. All I was going to do was tell them what I knew, which wasn’t much, and hope they believed me.

I wished Christos had been here to hold my hand, but he had too much work to do on his paintings. It wasn’t like I would end up in jail if things went badly today. If I ended up getting kicked out of SDU, I’d see Christos every single day.

But I really, really hoped to avoid getting expelled. I’d worked too hard to throw it all away now. I didn’t want to stop taking more awesome art classes and seeing my friends every day. Because I knew if I got kicked out, no matter what anybody said, I would see a lot less of Madison, Romeo, and Kamiko.

Sigh.

Dean Livingston mumbled back and forth with the two administrators sitting beside him, then he turned to me, “Thank you for your patience, Miss Smith. I think we’re ready to begin?” He raised his eyebrows and glanced at everyone.

Nobody objected.

Dean Livingston folded his fingers on the files laying on the table in front of him. “As you know, Miss Smith,” he nodded at me, “the reason we’re here today is because Miss Kingston-Whitehouse has accused you of theft. Theft of her credit card, to be exact, while she was a visiting patron of the Eleanor M. Westbrook art museum, where you worked at the time.”

I wanted to say “I object!” but I wasn’t a lawyer and this wasn’t a courtroom. I knew enough to keep my mouth shut until they told me it was my turn to talk. Only then would I dive over the table and throttle Tiffany by the neck while demanding she tell the truth.

The Dean turned to Mr. Selfridge and said, “Mr. Selfridge would like to say a few words on your behalf, Miss Smith.”

I hadn’t expected that. I hoped he didn’t bad mouth me.

Mr. Selfridge stood up and smoothed his jacket. He clasped his hands in front of his waist and smiled at me. “Although I only had the pleasure of working with Miss Smith for a few short months, in that time I found her to be a diligent, hard working, forthright young woman. She always did her job, and did it well, was always pleasant with the visiting patrons, was never impatient, and she was always responsible.” He smiled at me before turning to the administrators. “I trusted Samantha implicitly, and had no concerns about leaving her in charge of the museum when I needed to step out for errands.”

Dean Livingston glanced up at Mr. Selfridge and said, “It is my understanding that you weren’t present at the time of the theft?”

“No,” Mr. Selfridge said apologetically, “I was in a meeting with the Provost of Adams College at the time. You know how Bill is about his meetings,” Mr Selfridge grinned.

The Dean smiled at him, “Yes I do.” Then his smile faded. “But you weren’t at the museum at the time of the incident?”

“Regrettably, no,” Mr. Selfridge said. “I was only present afterward, when Miss Kingston-Whitehouse returned for her credit card.”

The Dean nodded, as did the two administrators flanking him. The woman administrator shot me a quick glance. I gave her my best smile, trying to look innocent and pleasant.

She looked away. Had she already decided I was a guilty liar? I hoped not.

The Dean glanced at the papers in front of him and said, “Mr. Selfridge, am I correct in saying that you saw Miss Smith remove the stolen credit card from her wallet?”

“Yes.”

“But you never saw how it got there?”

“No.”

“Thank you, Mr. Selfridge,” the Dean finished. “You can sit down.”

Mr. Selfridge sat down and tossed a nervous smile in my direction.

I smiled back genuinely. He’d tried. I mean, what else could he say? He hadn’t seen how the card had gotten into my wallet. Heck, I’d been in the restroom when it had happened. For all I knew, Tiffany had hired ninjas to sneak into the museum and put it there.

It occurred to me at that moment that being in the restroom was possibly the worst alibi of all time. How was I supposed to prove it? Fish my old tampon out of the sewer somewhere and have it carbon dated to the time I’d used the ladies room? Yeah, right.

I had nothing.

“Miss Kingston-Whitehouse,” the Dean said, “Can we hear your version of events?”

Tiffany stood up to speak. She wore a sexy silver pencil skirt and a fitted lilac colored blouse that was only buttoned halfway up her cleavage. Her blonde hair wafted across her bosom. She looked ridiculously hot. I guess it was fitting. When the Queen shouted from her throne, “Off with her head!” she usually wore a fancy outfit.

The Dean, Mr. Selfridge, and the other male administrator looked hypnotized by Tiffany’s beauty. The woman administrator, rather than being catty, seemed similarly entranced.

Wasn’t it a fact that people tended to trust attractive people more than unattractive ones?

Even when it was a stranger?

If that was true, Tiffany was so beautiful in this moment that the administrators were going to believe every word she said. When I got up to speak, the Dean would already have a noose in his hands, and he’d be fingering the knots in preparation for my hanging. The guy next to him would be loading a rifle for my firing squad, and the woman administrator would be drawing poison into a syringe so she could give me a lethal injection right here on the spot.

Tiffany made a show of smoothing her skirt.

I had no idea what she was going to say. Maybe, just maybe, she might tell the truth. Naw. Who was I kidding? This was Tiffany Kingston-Whitehouse. All she did in life was get her way. Oh well. Even if I got kicked out of SDU, she couldn’t take Christos away from me, and she couldn’t stop me from studying art.

Whatever.

Tiffany nodded at the Dean, “Dean Livingston, I don’t know where to begin.”

I did. How about the truth?

“You see…” Tiffany said nervously.

She better be nervous. When I lied through my teeth, I usually was.

“Um…” Tiffany stammered, “this has all been a big misunderstanding. I, uh, well…I sort of put my credit card in Samantha’s wallet myself.”

I think I actually heard wet popping noises as everyone’s eyes jumped out of their eye sockets. That was of course ridiculous. Because I needed to get my ears checked. There was no way I’d heard Tiffany just say what I thought she’d said.

Tiffany looked very nervous while the administrators gaped at her.

“Come again?” the Dean said.

“I put my credit card in her wallet…” Tiffany said, “…as a, uh, prank. I don’t know why. It was a stupid thing to do. And I let her get in trouble.” Tiffany turned to me, a pained look on her face. “I’m really sorry, Samantha. I was a total jerk for doing that.” She turned to the administrators. “I know, I’m probably in big trouble now. That’s fine. I’ll accept whatever you guys decide to do.” She sat back down.

The Dean and the two administrators muttered back and forth. I couldn’t make out what they were saying because they sat so far away, but I could see them raising their eyebrows in disbelief.

I was as surprised as they were.

Wow, when Tiffany had stood up to speak two minutes ago, I had thought her hypnotizing beauty had been nothing but a devilish ruse covering her rotten core. I was wrong. It had been a reflection of her change of heart about me.

It turned out Tiffany Kingston-Whitehouse was full of surprises, not shit, like I’d feared.

Wow.

I learned something new today.

People changed.

Even hateful bitches.

* * *

There was another Wombat staff meeting at Toasted Roast that afternoon. Justin had emailed everyone two days ago and said he was going to announce the winner of the campus-wide vote off between my drawing and Tammy Lemons’ for the new Wombat mascot today. I couldn’t wait to find out the results.

Was it possible for lightning to strike twice in one day? I crossed my fingers.