Murder in the Dorm

By Shahzad Rizvi

When a Mafia princess is found dead in her dorm room, her roommate Sabby, the daughter of Pakistani immigrants, is accused of murder. Both girls were in love with the same handsome student, and Sabby is an expert in poisons. As the story moves from Pakistan to Sicily to Hollywood, international vendettas, double-crosses, and surprises abound, involving even the President and the FBI Director.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shahzad Rizvi
• Release date: Jun 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781452450162

Shahzad Rizvi

Shahzad Rizvi was born and raised in a princely state in India. He now lives and works in the Washington area with his family. He enjoys travel, reading, and learning languages, but his greatest passion is storytelling.

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Murder in the Dorm

By Shahzad Rizvi

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012, Shahzad Rizvi

Also available in print at most online booksellers

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedicated to my beloved wife, Becky

My Muse, as well as Guide, Friend, and Philosopher

Chapter 1

It was the day to check into the dorms, and there was a long line of cars vying for places to park. Although all the student, faculty, and staff parking areas—and even the handicapped zones—had been opened up, the parents, step-parents, grandparents, and guardians, laden with teenage paraphernalia, just kept coming. They were accompanied by the proud—or, in some cases, reluctant—owners of the gear: the incoming freshman crop.

A black stretch limo drove up College Street, the main artery through campus, at a high speed. It cut off a car which had the right of way. When the driver of that car honked in protest, the limo’s passenger rolled down her window and showed the other driver her middle finger. The limo went around the cars in line and came to a stop ahead of a station wagon with a handicapped permit. It belonged to an elderly couple, delivering their granddaughter to the college. A young blonde woman descended from the limo. She looked the epitome of modern fashion from behind; she was wearing a Sue Wong scallop sheath dress with suede Manolo Blahnik high-heeled pumps, and carrying a silver Nanette Lepore handbag. The women in the cars she’d passed observed the limo, the clothes, and the hair with a touch of envy. They stopped unloading their cars and waited with bated breath for her to turn around so they could see her face. When she finally did turn around, there was a collective gasp. Hers was the most lopsided and disproportionate face they had ever seen. Her eyes were different sizes, and her thin-lipped mouth was set in her face at an unattractive angle. Their envy melted away. Oh well! exclaimed the driver of one of the cars she’d cut off, With that kind of face, I guess she can’t help behaving that way.

Stuck far back in the line was an old, corroding Sentra, with no chance of making it to the unloading area any time soon. Its occupants—a father, a mother, their daughter the incoming freshman, and her two young brothers—decided to park at an outlandish distance from the campus and walk to the dorm. There was an aura about the family as though they had originated from some place other than the United States. People waiting in the cars watched them with interest and curiosity as they passed by. Each was laden with as much of the girl’s personal effects as he or she could carry. The pretty college-bound daughter, who walked ahead of her family, wore a crumpled blue shirt, jeans fraying at the bottom, and worn-out sneakers.

The rush at this college may have been the result of its ranking as number one in its category by the prestigious College Appraisers. Or perhaps the onslaught was attributable to the recent change of the college’s name from Little College to Excellent College. No scientific study had been done to determine the effects of the new name on enrollment, so the matter remained in the realm of conjecture, hypothesis, and speculation. What Mr. Little might have had to say about the name change—it was he who’d left money for the founding of the college—we will never know, since he rested six feet under. Whether or not he turned in his place of repose, we will never find out.

In the recent past, Little College had been lurching from weakness to weakness, its enrollment sagging. College Appraisers had run out of space at the bottom of their reports to which to consign the school. In a rare moment of wisdom, the beleaguered college’s trustees struck upon the idea of stealing Dr. Fixit from another—successful—college, and appointing him President. He had come to their notice through a report in the Washington Tribune, a highly respected newspaper in the nation’s capital, in which he had been dubbed a man of all systems. After that news report, Dr. Fixit found himself followed around town and campus by numerous college head-hunters. But the Little people had prevailed, owing to their tenacity and persistence—and their deep pockets. They promised to put all of the college’s resources at his disposal, and what was more, they gave him a free hand in shaping the college as he wished.

For Dr. Fixit, this was an offer that he could not possibly turn down. Right after accepting the position, he arrived at the college with alacrity, but was appalled to see the prevailing conditions. His first words were, This will not do! This message immediately rang out all over the campus and was heard in some form or another by every student, professor, administrator, and cafeteria worker. For every amenity and every facility, there were ten rules, while every permission had a dozen restrictions tacked on. Dr. Fixit averred, You cannot push the accelerator and apply the brakes at the same time. It makes for confused young minds and stunted growth. With that, he began the systematic dismantling of the old regime.

Dr. Fixit called the press to the campus and announced his vision. "This college will no longer be called Little College; heretofore it will be called Excellent College. Students will enjoy unlimited freedom, since liberty is conducive to the development of young minds. Freedom of thought and speech will be highly valued. Students will devise their own individual curriculums, because they know best what they want to learn, what their aptitudes are, and the kind of careers they want to pursue. Unlike Trickle-Down Economics, which our politicians are so fond of mentioning, we will impart a Percolate-Up kind of education.

"Our motto will be ‘We are all things to all people.’ We want to foster boundless energy and enthusiasm for learning among our students. It is a widespread but misguided notion that education is about crunching numbers, or studying under the looming threat of a poor grade. No! Education is about enriching the person and the community, exploring the unknown, opening up new worlds and going boldly into the future. My vision is of a completely new educational experience, entirely student-run and self-guided."

* * * *

After a long trek from the car, and many climbs, turns, and double-backs, the five finally found the room number where the young woman of the family was supposed to reside as she embarked on her college education. They stood outside the room for several seconds to compose themselves and catch their breath. Then both parents, one after the other, bobbed their heads from side-to-side, in the Asian style, which signaled a green light. After remaining calm for exactly five seconds, the twins began to fidget and asked in one voice, Shall we knock?

The sister, who was the major stake-holder in this mission, kept her counsel but moved with a mixture of purpose and uncertainty to knock gently at the door. She waited. When several seconds passed and there was no response, she repeated the knock, a little harder. Still, there was no response. Her father said, Maybe there’s no one inside.

The daughter said, But I can hear someone moving around and singing. She made a fist and punched the door like a boxer. The door opened and a young white woman appeared in the doorway, completely naked, with earbuds in her ears. As if on command, all five members of the family covered their eyes. The boys, however, continued to take in the full feminine spectacle before them, through the slits in their fingers.

The young white woman, the same one whose fashionable attire and unfortunate face had attracted notice upon her arrival an hour earlier, shouted, What’s the matter, haven’t you ever seen a naked body before? Who are you? What do you want?

The newcomer, in response to the challenge, removed her hands from her eyes and said in a controlled, measured voice, I am Sabahat Hameed. These are my parents and brothers. I have been assigned to this room.

The white woman asked, What kind of name is that?

The name is from Pakistan. You can call me Sabby, for short. Everyone does.

"So you’re foreigners. I was hoping to get an American roommate."

"I am an American, and a proud one. All five of us are Americans."

"Yeah, phony Americans, as my dad calls you guys."

Before Sabby could respond, a woman with an aura of authority showed up behind Sabby’s family, who were still standing awkwardly in the corridor. She said, I’m Cynthia, the RA of this dorm. How’re things going here? She took a quick appraisal of Sabby and her family, nodded cheerfully, and asked Sabby, Are you moving in?

Sabby said, I came here with that intention…and dragged my family along with me. She looked at the nude young woman, who was staring back at her defiantly, and continued, But I haven’t made much headway in that direction.

Cynthia glanced at a paper, looked quizzically at the nudist, and said, You must be Carla Carlivani?

Carla put her hand on her hip, tilted her head to one side, and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She said, I prefer to be called CC.

Cynthia was amused, but she masterfully suppressed it. Looking nonchalant, she said, Well, CC, why don’t you slip something on, so that these nice people can come in the room? With a look of if I have to, CC reached down to the floor and picked up a red silk robe. She proceeded to put it on in such a way that, by the time she was done, most of her vital parts had been displayed. Cynthia, who’d kept things in suspended animation up to this moment, breathed a tiny sigh of relief. There, she said and turned to Sabby. You must be Sabahat.

Sabby responded cheerfully, I am, but you can call me Sabby. It’s easier to say.

Alright, Sabby, let’s get the show on the road and move you in.

CC shouted, Wait, wait! Everyone was startled. Cynthia leaned over into the room, holding the doorframe for balance. When she surveyed the room, she soon understood why CC had reacted so strongly. The floor and beds were strewn with designer clothes, lingerie, shoes—in such quantity that they would have made Imelda Marcos jealous—overflowing jewelry boxes, and money. And something else caught Cynthia’s eye: a package of condoms. She made an athletic leap towards it and kicked the contraband under the bed before it was noticed by the older folks, who were right behind her. CC reacted, What the f…? But by now, Cynthia had had enough. She proceeded to gather the things from the floor and throw them in one corner. CC shouted again, Careful over there; those are my things.

Cynthia said calmly, Not to worry, CC. I will organize them for you.

Sabby said, I’ll help. Sabby’s parents, who were standing behind, came forward and lent a hand. Even the boys picked up a thing or two.

Finally, Cynthia asked, Which bed have you decided to make yours, CC?

CC said, "Neither! You call these little cots beds?"

Cynthia said, I’ll talk to the college president, Dr. Fixit, and see if he can make your sleeping arrangement more to your liking.

CC said, "He’d better! My dad has given him one million dollars