The moment they walked through the door, their eyes locked on the four naked girls huddled on the bench. “I guess I don’t have to ask who the perpetrators are,” smiled a stout, black haired officer who was the first to enter the room. “They seem to have misplaced their clothes,” was Dr. Z’s exasperated remark. “Can’t find ‘em anywhere.” “Got anything they can put on?” asked the first officer. “Not really,” responded the provost. “Do you?” “Our standard issue doesn’t usually include a wardrobe for four,” said the second officer. “Call maintenance,” Dr. Z instructed Mrs. Ross. “See if they’ve got some kinda covering we can use.” At the moment, Hildy would have been content to wrap herself in a dirty drop cloth—anything that would bring a stop to this extended nudie show. “No answer,” Mrs. Ross reported, holding the phone receiver to her ear. “Where the fu—!” It was as close as Hildy, or anyone, as far as she knew, had ever heard Dr.
