Poisoned Pins (6 page)

“How kind of him,” I said. “What are you majoring in, Rebecca?”

She swept her hair over her shoulder, checked to ensure she had our profound attention, and said, “Communications, with a focus on theater. I graduated in May, but I want to be in the productions this summer to enhance my resume, and darling Carlyle promised me at least one leading role. I do hope you and Caron will come see me.”

I'd begun to notice that they were all eyeing Caron in a predatory manner, as if they were crows and she an appetizingly steamy mound in the middle of the highway. Little did they know I planned to send her to college on some remote Canadian island near the North Pole, where she would be more likely to join an organization of feral elves than of sorority girls. I managed a polite smile. “We'll certainly try, Rebecca.”

Debbie Anne came into the dining room with a tray piled with serving bowls, mumbling apologies that only I acknowledged. Half an hour later, I made my escape. Caron refused to accompany me, insisting that she was in the middle of her training session and anything more than the short break for dinner would destroy her concentration. I assured her I would wait up for her so we could discuss certain topics, thanked everyone for the meal, and left before any Kappa hymns could be sung in my honor.

As I started across the lawn, a silver Mercedes stopped at the curb and the woman I'd seen the day before stepped out of the car and waved at me. “Excuse me,” she called, “but are you Claire Malloy from next door?” She correctly interpreted my grimace and came to the edge of the sidewalk. “I'm Eleanor Vanderson, a Kappa alumna. I serve as the house corps president and local adviser to the chapter. I just wanted to thank you for your concern last night.”

As before, she was sleekly and expensively dressed, and if a single gray hair had dared to disrupt her coiffed brown hair, only her hairdresser had been privy to it. She might have been older than fifty, but she had the purposeful look of a woman who went to aerobics classes thrice a week, played golf, and had things tucked and trimmed as needed. Her voice held a trace of a drawl that told me she'd grown up in the southern confines of the state, where country-club candidacies and bridal registrations still dominated the conversations at brunches, luncheons, tailgate parties, and pink teas.

“You're welcome,” I said, stopping short of snarling.

“Some of these girls . . . well, in my day it was exceedingly difficult to get into Kappa Theta Eta. If a rushee didn't have at least one legacy, along with strong recommendations from her hometown alumnae, she was cut at the end of the first day. We never considered a girl who didn't have a solid grade point from high school.” Her shrug was graceful, rippling down her arms like honey and ending at fingernails that must have been manicured daily. “Now we take almost anyone who shows up at the door, as long as her parents have adequate financial resources. It's simply not the same.”

“I'm sure it isn't, Mrs. Vanderson. If you'll excuse me, I'm expecting a long-distance call.”

“I won't keep you, Mrs. Malloy, but there's one thing I need to ask you before you go. Yesterday evening I came by to interview the painter, and he claimed
not only that you were a dear friend of his, but also that you're a politician. I may have misunderstood him, but he swore that you . . . I believe he said you're a senator.”

It would have taken hours to explain why Arnie was convinced I was a senator, and although I had been less than truthful moments earlier, it was possible that someone somewhere was dialing my number. It was apt to be a con man with a foolproof scheme to make a fortune in federal oil leases, but even he appealed. “You misunderstood, and in any case, I'm a bookseller. As much as I've enjoyed our conversation, I really must run along now.”

“Then you will vouch for this man's good character? I cannot have anyone in the house who might bother the girls or pilfer the silverware.”

“Vouch for Arnie?” I said, startled. “Certainly not. He's worthless, felonious, unreliable, delusional, and a royal pain in the neck!”

“He seemed so very fond of you,” she murmured, “and spoke of your friendship at length.”

I aimed an unadorned and somewhat gnawed fingernail at her. “As I just said, delusional. I don't care to discuss Arnie further, Mrs. Vanderson. If you decide to hire him, it's none of my concern. I am expecting a call.”

Relying on this display of indignation to stifle her, I marched to my porch and through the door. All in all, it was quite as good as anything Caron could improvise, and I was congratulating myself when I heard a scream.

I was not torn by indecision—I was ripped to shreds right there in the middle of the staircase. The dilemma lay not between rushing upstairs to call 911 or rushing downstairs to aid Eleanor Vanderson. It lay between continuing upstairs at a leisurely pace to take a bath or returning downstairs to peek cautiously from the porch before I went upstairs to take a bath. Surely the sorority girls and housemother knew the routine by now, I
told myself as I teetered on one foot. We'd had a drill less than twenty-four hours ago.

Reminding myself what curiosity had done to a former Katie, I decided to make sure they were handling the matter and went downstairs, feeling as though I were descending into Mr. Dante's lower rings. The lights were again blazing and figures were darting around in the darkness alongside the house. Jean and Rebecca emerged with Mrs. Vanderson between them. Winkie, Pippa, Debbie Anne, and Caron came after them, their faces pale.

Perhaps, I thought smugly as I headed for a bubble bath and a new mystery novel, they might take Debbie Anne's encounter more seriously now that a real, live Kappa alumna had had the same experience. Dismissing the entire business, I proceeded to immerse myself in more ways than one.

The next morning I staked out the kitchen and waited for Caron to wake up. In that she had not come home until well after I'd given up and gone to bed, she refused to do so and I went to the Book Depot, wishing I knew the details of Mrs. Vanderson's scream. I was reluctant to call Peter, since I didn't know if they'd bothered to notify the police. If they had, he might fall for the argument that it happened in the adjoining yard and be cajoled into calling the campus police to ask for a copy of the report. If they hadn't, he might change the topic to a cabin and a brass bed. I wasn't in the mood for that.

Therefore I was pleased when Debbie Anne trudged into the store, even though the sight of her brought back memories of bad food, a boring and perfunctory conversation during the ingestion of same, and a nearly fatal overdose of pinkness. She was carrying only one textbook this time, and its cover indicated it concerned the psychological development of small children.

I gave her a disarming smile. “Why, Debbie Anne, shouldn't you be slaving in the library?”

“I was there all morning,” she said lugubriously. “I was wondering if I could talk to you, Mrs. Malloy. I
know we're not friends or anything, but sometimes I get the dumb idea that the girls don't like me very much, and I don't think Winkie does, either. I called my mama last night, but she was mad on account of it being a long-distance call.”

“Last night,” I said, homing in on the phrase much like a malnourished refugee, “I heard a scream and saw Mrs. Vanderson being helped from the dark area between my house and the Kappa house. That's where you were knocked down, isn't it?”

“Yeah, although you're the only person who believes me. Jean and Rebecca were in the same pledge class, and Pippa was the junior representative to the board, so they all kind of hang around together. During the academic year, I was pretty good friends with a few of the pledges, but now no one bothers to so much as say good morning. We're supposed to take turns in the kitchen, according to Winkie. Somehow every night I seem to be cooking and cleaning up afterward, and all by myself.”

I did not want to listen to the complaints of a provincial Cinderella. “You'll have to stick up for yourself, Debbie Anne. I can't oversee the duty roster for you. Now, what happened to Mrs. Vanderson?”

“Not all that much. She saw a figure in the shadows. Thinking it was a fraternity boy, she marched over to give him a piece of her mind. Whoever it was shoved her down real hard and ran away.”

“And that's what happened to you the night before?”

“I guess so. I thought the guy was trying to climb in through a window, but Winkie and Jean looked the next morning and they didn't find any scratches on the windowsill. Jean made a point of telling me there weren't any footprints in the mud and the shrubs hadn't been trampled. She made it real clear that she didn't believe me one bit, that she thought I was acting up to get attention.” Her eyes filled with tears and she began to snuffle in a most unattractive fashion, not unlike an asthmatic bloodhound. “I didn't make it up, Mrs. Malloy, any more than I did last spring when my
mama's earrings disappeared. There're a lot of funny things that happen at the house, not to mention some of the pledge activities. I don't think some of them are right. My preacher back home would have a fit if he knew what all I've done to try to get initiated into Kappa Theta Eta.”

“Oh, really? I thought hazing was outlawed on this campus after one fraternity boy jumped off the roof and fractured his leg, and another nearly died of alcohol poisoning.”

She stopped snuffling to give me a prissy frown. “We don't allow alcohol in the house, or smoking, either. Some of the seniors smoke in their rooms, and everybody knows Winkie keeps wine in her refrigerator and a bottle of brandy under her bed. One night when I couldn't sleep on account of worrying over my midterms, I went down to get a glass of milk and I could have sworn I heard a man's voice right there in Winkie's suite. I asked her about it the next morning, and she got real peevish with me and told me I'd better stop imagining things and concern myself with my grades. When I told Jean about it, she just laughed and said the same thing Winkie did.”

I clucked my tongue. “Let's hope National never hears of this. So, what pledge activities would scandalize your preacher back home?”

“Mostly silly stuff, but sometimes . . . well, you know, things that sure might . . .” She gulped and turned away, but not before I saw the red blotches on her cheeks. “I shouldn't talk to you about those things. If anyone overheard me, I'd be out on my fanny in no time flat.” She promptly discarded her own advice, and dropped her voice to a husky whisper more suitable for secret agents exchanging bomb recipes. “There was one time when I got so upset I thought I'd throw up, but Jean was real sweet and talked to me half the night. She kept repeating how Kappa Theta Eta meant a life-time of sisterhood and how I'd better learn to accept their ways if I ever hoped to be initiated. Now I don't know if I want to be a Kappa or not!”

I took a tissue from the box below the counter and gave it to her. “If you're so miserable, why not quit and live in a dorm?” I said pragmatically, if not sympathetically.

“Mama would skin me alive if I quit,” she said. “I just can't make her understand that most of the girls make fun of me. Jean's been real kind about lending me clothes, and Pippa did that color thing for half price, but it didn't do any good. I don't dress like them, talk like them, have families like them, or drive fancy cars like them. Everything about me's wrong, according to them. My hair, my accent, my major—everything!”

She sank to the floor and began to snuffle with increasing vigor, until she was sobbing and I was trying to decide what to do about her. Since there were no customers, she was not likely to discourage sales, but it seemed rather cold-blooded to simply watch her until she subsided and I could shoo her out the door. On the other hand, I had no desire to cuddle her in my arms and make soothing noises while she splattered my shirt with tears, not to mention less desirable fluids. She was a wet creature, I thought, and inclined to dribble on every possible occasion.

I opted for a middling approach. “Come now, Debbie Anne, it can't be all that bad,” I said consolingly, but from a prudent distance. “Your friends will be back in the fall, and you'll have raised your grade point so you can be initiated and you'll feel more like a real Kappa Theta . . . whatever.”

She wiped her nose and looked up at me. “I don't see how I can ever be initiated. I'm too scared to go into the chapter room after what happened at the last meeting.”

“Jean said you'd been inadvertently locked in the room.”

“Inadvertently my foot! Jean asked me in a real sugary voice to put away the candles in the ritual closet, then locked the closet door, turned out the lights, and left. I was there for most of an hour, beating on the
door and screaming, but nobody could hear me on account of the chapter room's in the basement. She locked that door, too, and the one at the top of the stairs.”

“The ritual closet? What exactly is a ritual closet?” I asked, allowing myself to entertain macabre visions of mutilated cat corpses.

The bell tinkled before she could answer, to my regret. It was a customer of sorts, a whiskery, ponytailed science fiction freak of indeterminate years who resided in a reality that mirrored whatever he was reading. He blinked at Debbie Anne for a minute, then waved a hand at me and shuffled into the netherworld of the racks.

Debbie Anne scrambled to her feet, blotted her nose, and stuffed the wadded tissue in her pocket. “Golly, Mrs. Malloy, we're not allowed to talk about”—she lowered her voice to a twangy whisper—”the chapter room or the ritual closet. That's secret Kappa stuff, like our whistle and handshake.”

I was intrigued by the arcanum. “You have a secret whistle? Please, I beg of you, let me hear it. I promise I'll erase the memory afterward and never so much as exhale in any similar way.”

“I can't! I'm sorry I bothered you, Mrs. Malloy. I'm desperate for some advice, but I can't tell you about what goes on at the house. You're not a Kappa.” Having delivered the ultimate insult, she grabbed her book and fled.