D. Schmidt - They Ate the Waitress?

His transmitter buzzing, he walked around the corner for some privacy. It was his friend from Seattle Safe Harbor. “Hey, buddy,” Nick said. “What have you found? Anything?”

“There were several Jane Does in my records, but most of them were the wrong ethnicity or age, not your girl. There’s one Jane Doe that was found stripped to the bone, but, fortunately, the bones were engraved with barcodes. They were part of a cadaver from a medical supply company. No luck this time, sorry.”

Nick sighed deeply, suddenly feeling very tired. “Thanks anyway. Well, I’ll let you get back to work.”

“What about those photos of my mistress?”

“Got to go. Talk to you later, buddy!”

The following morning, Nick decided to search Jessica Campbell’s place. She was studying interior design at a local college. She lived on campus with two other girls, so any evidence would be well-hidden. She wouldn’t have any internal organs in jars or lumps of bloody meat lying around. Only pre-med students could get away with that. “If she is the killer,” he thought, climbing into his car, “she should give something away. Now, what should I ask her? ‘Hey, remember me? I’m Nick Wergild. My magazine is doing a piece on female cannibal murderers. Do you know anyone I should interview?’ Right, that would work. Why don’t I just shove her head in the toilet until she confesses?”

He parked a few blocks from the college and walked the rest of the way. On the corner stood a homeless-looking man in an old, military surplus coat with a Canadian flag stitched to the back. He was holding a dirty cardboard sign that said “Existential Angst – Please Help.” A charity had built a homeless shelter about ten blocks away, so Nick figured the guy was just scamming the college kids.

For the most part, the students were there to drink, party with their friends, and find the philosophical views most likely to offend their parents. The few serious students were older, working adults getting just the right degree to land that dream job as the junior assistant to the vice president of pencil sharpening.

The campus was on the large side and beautifully landscaped. The trees were on hydraulic pedestals which rotated throughout the day so that the campus always had just the right amount of shade. The campus had its own artificial lake for the school hockey team. A kind of sprinkler system delivered daily showers of liquid nitrogen, keeping the lake permanently frozen.

A student in a gray toga grabbed Nick’s arm and pressed a crumpled flyer into his hand. “Hello, sir! Would you like to hear about the Church of the Mundane?”

“Actually, I’m kind of in a hurry…”

“My mother always told me that if I prayed enough and said just the right things, God would speak to me. And he did! He spoke to me and gave me a message of hope for the whole world. Problem is, I gave the message three years ago, and God is still talking. He tells me about weird dreams he had, which shampoo he’s been using, his favorite kind of toast… Did you know God prefers rye bread to wheat br–”

Nick jammed the flyer in the student’s mouth and continued on his way. “I already have a religion,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m a narcissist.”

Jessica’s dorm was on the far end of the campus, a squat, two-story, brick building with a forest of satellite dishes on the roof. Her window was on the ground floor, hidden behind a large topiary shaped like a dolphin. Peeking inside, he saw that her roommates were out. Soft, classical music played from an unseen source. The bathroom door stood open, revealing a very naked Jessica shaving her legs. This done, she washed off her makeup and carefully removed the HiLites from her hair. He watched her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she took an eyebrow pencil from the counter and pressed it to her chin.

“What the hell? Why is she drawing beard stubble on her face?”

She pinned up her long, scarlet hair and slipped on a short, blonde wig. Holding her breath, she bound her breasts with a wide, elastic bandage. She pulled on a white undershirt and pair of boxers, followed by a silk shirt and tan slacks. In the space of fifteen minutes, she had transformed herself from a stunningly gorgeous woman to a slightly feminine, young man. She switched off the music and headed for the door.

“A female crossdresser?” he thought, confused. “What’s the point? Women can wear anything they want. Except maybe codpieces… So why add a fake beard? Is she dating a woman? Is it follicle envy? Maybe Renée found out about her little hobby, and Jessica killed her to keep it a secret! – Good god, everyone at that restaurant is nuts. Must be something in the bottled water.”

He hurried around the corner to the parking lot and ducked behind a tree, just in time to watch Jessica climb in an orange convertible. He ran to his own car and sped after her. Following a few car lengths behind, he was careful to not lose her at the lights. Jessica drove for an hour, eventually pulling into the lot of a place called Le Théâtre d’Jolis Hommes .

“Now this makes more sense,” he thought. “She’s in a play.” He parked across the street and waited for her to step inside the theater. “Only a handful of other cars in the lot; audience hasn’t arrived yet. If I can’t blend in with a crowd, I’ll have to watch her from outside.” He zipped up his jacket and stepped across the street.

Glancing in the windows, he circled the building until he found the women’s dressing rooms. There were many beautiful women in various states of undress, but no Jessica. “Wait a minute,” he thought. “Those beautiful women in various states of undress are men! This must be one of those drag theaters… Alright, so where is Jessica? Maybe there’s another dressing room?”

He checked a nearby window. The next dressing room was for the actors playing the male roles. They were talking about someone named “Billy” who had fallen off the stage during a dance number in the last show. Suddenly, someone at the door drew their attention.

“Hey, Billy!” one of the actors said. “We were just talking about you!” Nick changed position at the window to get a better view of the door. “Billy” was Jessica.

“Hello, Ty,” she said, in a voice from deep in her chest. “You know, I blame you for what happened last night. You shouldn’t have told me to break a leg!”

They shared a laugh and Jessica walked off. Nick stepped two windows down and looked in on yet another dressing room, this one the star’s. Jessica walked inside and took a seat at a vanity. Washing off the fake beard stubble, she tossed a disposable razor in the trash, apparently to make it appear as if she had actually shaved.

She stripped down to her boxers and flipped through a rack of costumes by the wall, finally settling on a floor-length, midnight blue gown. Returning to the vanity, she applied a layer of heavy, evening makeup and traded her short, blonde wig for a shoulder length, black one, which she twisted into a French braid.

He left his post at the window and walked to the front of the building. The sign at the box office said “Today and Tomorrow: Danielle or Daniel? ” He found a printout from a newsfeed in a trashcan. Turning to the theater section, he searched for Jessica’s play.

Danielle or Daniel?

A young woman named Danielle wants desperately to become an actress but can’t find anyone to take her seriously. One night, she discovers a traditional Shakespearian theater on the edge of town where all of the women’s parts are played by men. She disguises herself as a male and auditions for the female lead.

Will anyone discover that the handsome and talented Daniel is really Danielle? And what will she do when Britney, her former roommate, asks her on a date?