Poisoned Pins (20 page)

I was soaking in the bathtub, occasionally twisting the hot-water tap with my toes, allowing the heat to nurse away the day's accumulation of bruises, and reading a mystery novel in which the clever amateur
sleuth, a woman of moderate years who had the courage to admit she hated cats, was outwitting bumbly, fumbly, grumbly policemen on every page.

I was reaching for my drink when I heard a scream.

I gulped down my drink as I dried myself, scrambled into my clothes, and hurried downstairs and across the lawn to the Kappa Theta Eta house. How could these women—and their neighbors—get any sleep, if they insisted on screaming at every opportunity? As much as I loved my duplex with its view of the campus and convenience to the bookstore, it might be time to move farther away.

I was wondering just how cold the winters were in Fairbanks as I pounded on the front door. Winkie jerked it open and gaped at me. “Claire?” she said wonderingly, as if I were dressed in a tutu and clutching a glittery wand. She was the one who warranted a second look, dressed as she was in a naughty scarlet peignoir, with enough makeup on her face to intimidate a seasoned hooker, but very little she or any of the Kappas did these days surprised me.

“Who screamed this time?” I asked.

She pulled me inside and locked the door. “Pippa. She and Rebecca are in my suite, both of them so upset that I felt a glass of wine would serve a medicinal purpose. I even splashed a wee bit in Katie's saucer.”

She's splashed more than a wee bit in her own saucer, I decided as I followed her unsteady path across the foyer. The two girls sat on the sofa, both wearing robes. Pippa's face was pale and her hair disheveled, but she managed to convey a glass to her lips with only a minimum of twitches.

If Rebecca had been in need of a medicinal dose, it had worked miracles. She gave me a sharp look over
the rim of her glass, then finished off its contents and said, “So we've disturbed you once again, Mrs. Malloy. You must think we're absolutely crazy, but sometimes literally weeks and weeks go by with nothing more exciting than the discovery of a mouse in the pantry.”

“Would you like a glass of wine?” Winkie asked me with a bright smile. “It's our little secret weapon to fight off overly active imaginations.”

I wasn't sure whose she had in mind, mine or Pippa's. “Thank you, but this is not a social call. In truth, my late-night visits are beginning to irritate me as much as they seem to irritate you. Just tell me why Pippa screamed and I'll run along home.”

In the ensuing silence, Katie stalked into the room and sprang into Rebecca's lap, evidently no more pleased to see me than I was to see her. She seemed fascinated by the bandage on my hand, and no doubt proud of her handiwork. Winkie wandered into her kitchen, returned with a bottle of wine, and settled cozily in the rocking chair. Pippa sniffled. Rebecca gathered her long black hair and curled it around her neck like a scarf.

“Why did you scream?” I snapped at the offender. “Did our mysterious prowler reappear, or was it a mouse in the pantry?”

“It was weird, Mrs. Malloy. I was so startled that I didn't even realize I'd screamed until afterward. I think I must have been repressing my anxiety to the point of psychoneurosis, understandably precipitated by depression over Jean's death. Had I made more of an effort to explore my innermost—”

“Someone was outside her window,” Rebecca said, stroking Katie with a gesture as languid as her voice. “He stepped on a dry twig and the sound frightened her.”

Pippa giggled nervously, if not psychoneurotically. “I'd taken off my bra and was examining my tan lines, so he must have gotten an eyeful.” She looked down with a modest dimple or two. “I've been sunbathing in
a really cute little bikini. Then tonight, when we were at the mall, I found this absolutely adorable one-piece, my very best shade of pearl gray, but I don't see how I can wear it with a white stripe across my back.”

I ordered myself to stop grinding my teeth. “I'm sure you'll find a way. So you were in your bedroom, and someone was outside your window. Did you see his face?” She shook her head. “Has anyone called campus security?”

“Oh, Claire, I don't think it's necessary,” Winkie said reproachfully. “What must they think of us? A sorority is only as strong as its reputation, as you well know, and each chapter must endeavor to—”

I was not in the mood for an in-depth analysis of the perils of a dubious reputation. “You need to call Eleanor Vanderson and ask her about notifying the campus security force. If she agrees with you, at the least she can have her husband come over and ascertain that the peeping torn has fled and the screens and doors are secured.”

Winkie frowned at me. “I wouldn't want to disturb her, and Dean Vanderson is a very busy man with numerous responsibilities. It's much too late for me to call them.”

“Then I will.” I reached for the telephone. “Tell me the number and we can all go back to bed shortly.” I was surprised when she complied. Seconds later, I was surprised and disappointed when a male answered.

“Is this Dean Vanderson?” I said crisply.

“Yes, it is.” He spoke in an even voice, as opposed to a voice indicative of frantic activity within the last ten minutes. “Who's this?”

“I'm calling on behalf of the Kappa housemother. She needs to speak to Mrs. Vanderson about a situation at the house.” I thrust the receiver into Winkie's hand and started for the door, then returned and sat down next to Pippa. Speaking softly in order not to interfere with Winkie's sputtery apologies, I said, “There's something we need to discuss. This afternoon when you picked up what had fallen out of my purse, you
failed to replace my key ring. If you kept it as a souvenir, I'd like you to return it. You're causing me a great deal of inconvenience.”

“I wouldn't take your key ring, Mrs. Malloy,” she said, sounding shocked. “That's stealing. Kappa Theta Eta pledges take a solemn oath to uphold this really involved code of honor so they won't ever disgrace the organization. We have to promise not to be seen drunk in public, not to cheat, not to get caught in sleazy bars and nightclubs—”

“Or motels,” Rebecca inserted neatly.

Pippa flushed. “Or motels, or anyplace that might make us look like tramps. We always dress for dinner on Monday nights as if it were a dinner party, and—”

“Then you don't have my key ring?” I said. “Did you see anyone else who might have picked it up?”

She reiterated her ignorance with such earnestness that I was considering believing her when Winkie replaced the receiver and said, “Eleanor agreed that we have no reason to call the campus security department. She and her husband were in bed when you called, and she isn't willing to ask him to get dressed and come here. She'll send someone tomorrow to make sure all the screens are set properly and hooked from the inside.”

“What about yours?” I said as I went into her kitchen and pushed back the pink gingham curtains. “It's barely propped in place, and one tiny nudge will send it to the ground.” I proceeded to prove my hypothesis to be correct. “Oops, sorry, but it was begging for it,” I called. “You really ought to keep the ground-floor windows locked until this prowler is caught.”

Pippa gasped. “My window's wide open. What if this voyeur is in my room?”

I closed and locked the window before I returned to the living room. “I think we'd better check all the windows on this floor, especially those in unoccupied rooms.”

“Mrs. Malloy has a point, Winkie.” Rebecca held out her hand. “Give me the keys and I'll go with her.
You and Pippa can wait here until the drawbridge is raised and the alligators are circling in the moat.”

Winkie seemed a little confused, but she took the keys from her purse and handed them to Rebecca. We went first to the kitchen and made sure the door and windows were locked. We did the same in the lounge, then went to the hallway with the bedrooms.

“My room is a pit,” Rebecca said, although with a noticeable lack of distress. She went inside, stepping over clothes and clutter, locked her window, and returned with an indecipherable smile. “No nocturnal visitors for me, anyway,” she said as she unlocked Pippa's door and gestured for me to precede her.

I'd taken a quick look at all the paper cats taped to her walls. They had messages along the lines of “You're a great big sister!” and “I got an A on my paper!” The handwriting varied; apparently they served as in-house memos as well as official stationery.

Pippa hadn't done any housekeeping since I'd last visited. The pearl-gray bathing suit hung from a knob on the dresser, books had been added to the mess on the floor, and an open desk drawer filled with oddments reminded me of my own. The blinds were pulled up and the window was open as far as it could go. The screen was hooked, however, and showed no signs of tampering.

We went into Debbie Anne's room, still neat and clean and sadly impersonal. The only addition was a thin patina of fingerprint powder. I picked up the photograph of her parents. “I'm really worried about Debbie Anne. She didn't sound particularly terrified when she called me, but she may have—”

“She called you?” Rebecca swept her hair back to stare at me. “Why would she call you?”

“She seemed to have found me sympathetic, and she asked me to get in touch with her mother. I did, hoping the woman might have some suggestions as to where Debbie Anne is.”

“Did she?”

“Her mother was under the illusion that Debbie
Anne was a treasured member of the sorority and spent all her free time with her sisters,” I said with a hint of acerbity.

“She would say something like that, wouldn't she?” As she made sure the window was locked, she added, “She stole things from us, ran down Jean in the alley, and now is hiding as if she fancies herself to be a maligned victim. I'm not at all surprised to hear she lied to her mother. Let's finish this up, if you don't mind. I have an audition in the morning, and I need to study my lines.”

I went to Jean's door and waited while she unlocked it. The dead girl's clothes and personal effects had been placed in suitcases and cardboard boxes stacked in the middle of the room. The bed had been stripped, and the pink cats were gone.

“Debbie Anne Wray tried to destroy Kappa Theta Eta,” Rebecca said from the doorway. “We did our best to mold her into one of us, but she couldn't cut it. I don't care if they never find her. I hope she's hiding in the woods, and the bears get to her first.” She backed across the hall and leaned against the wall, her face mottled with anger and her hands curled so tightly that her fingernails might have drawn blood. Turning away, she began to cry.

I decided to ignore her outburst and get out of the place before I lost my temper. Even the mildest of mild-mannered booksellers can turn militant if provoked. I went around the cartons, made sure the window was locked, and was on my way out of the room when I noticed a scattering of items that had been left on the dresser, presumably unworthy of being packed. There were bobby pins dusted with powder, an empty pack of menthol cigarettes, plastic pens, paper clips in a chain, and a white cap from a shampoo bottle. And a matchbook from a motel called Hideaway Haven. I slipped it into my pocket. “Who packed up Jean's things?” I asked Rebecca.

“I offered to do it, but looking at her things was too painful and I just couldn't go through with it,” she
said, trying to stanch the tears that slinked down her cheeks. Unlike most of us, she cried delicately, with no puffiness of her eyelids or redness of her nose. “I think Winkie told the cleaning woman to finish, or maybe she did it herself.”

“Did you find a packet of negatives?” I asked ever so artfully.

My question dried up her tears. “Negatives of what, Mrs. Malloy?” she said. Her hair hid her expression, but the coolness of her tone was unmissable.

“I have no idea,” I said, although the matchbook in my pocket was glowing like an ember and I was beginning to see some possibilities. They were downright nasty ones, too. “Everything's secure, so you can go study for your audition and I'll stop by Winkie's on my way out.”

I'd hoped she might leave me in Jean's room, but she waited while I turned out the light, closed the door, and joined her in the hall. She went into her room, and rather than snooping through Jean's possessions, I was reduced to doing as I'd promised. Winkie was asleep in the rocking chair, and Pippa was dangling a pink ribbon for Katie's amusement. She assured me that she would help Winkie to bed and thanked me for being so concerned.

I wasn't, but I nodded wearily and went back to my apartment. Earlier, the steamy hot water had been so intoxicating that I was relaxed and anticipating bed. Now, thanks to the Kappa Theta Etas, my mind was sizzling with chaotic thoughts, most of which had to do with blackmail. I wished I could talk to someone, but the someone who came to mind was not an option. This was going to be a solo effort, and not until my solution was tied up with a pretty pink bow would it be presented to the appropriate authorities.

I sat down and looked at the advertising on the matchbook. The Hideaway Haven, a dumpy place west of town that I'd noticed but failed to visit, offered its clientele “adult” movies and king-size waterbeds. I suspected it also offered not only weekly and monthly
rates, but an hourly one for those who availed themselves of certain services indigenous to truck stops. What could I do with this concrete bit of evidence—other than light candles and sit around in their glow? Peter kept candles in his dining room, living room, and bedroom, and was forever muttering about my pragmatism when I flipped on a light to avoid stubbing my toes. Officer Pipkin was likely to be able to see more keenly in the dark than a cat.

Admittedly, I was brooding, a useless and deleterious pastime that was beginning to stir up a goodly amount of self-pity. I realized I was in real danger of putting on a Johnny Mathis record and sniveling throughout the night Physical action, if not exertion, was called for, I decided as I stuck the matchbook in my purse and started through the kitchen to the back staircase that led to my garage. Considering how to pose questions to the night manager about his college clients, I had my hand on the doorknob when it occurred to me that I wasn't driving anywhere unless I hot-wired my car.