Rushing to die, p.17
Rushing to Die, page 17
I dropped her hand and shoved my butt off the bed. Yeah, right! “You already admitted it on the phone!”
“I thought we were lying to each other on purpose!”
“Why would we do that?”
“Because that’s what Debs and Tri Mus do!”
Oh. She had a point. “But we really didn’t start that thread about you.”
She lifted a skeptical brow, and I decided to let it go. In the grand scheme of things, the Tri Mus believing we wrote mostly true information on GreekGossip wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Besides, time was running out.
“Are we doing this or not?”
Sheila stood decisively. “Just let me get my wig.”
THE RECRUITMENT ICE Cream Social at the student union was Panhellenic’s attempt to keep the rushees involved and interested even with pref night delayed because of a murderer’s being on the loose. The e-mail invitation from that morning explicitly stated that representatives from the chapters were not going to be there, so that the rushees knew this wasn’t a formal rush event.
I checked my blond wig, glasses, and face in the rearview mirror. I was twenty- six, but on a good day, in just the right light, with makeup that had the high-tech fine-line-blurring particles, I could probably pull off a mature, sun-damaged twenty-one. That would have to do. Maybe with sunglasses covering my laugh lines, I would be a convincing twenty-year-old.
Maybe.
If I was barely pulling off twenty-one, Sheila looked closer to a PhD student. Her short red bob, fedora, and trench coat were exactly what I would wear if I was a double agent in East Berlin in 1987. But hey, at least everyone was wondering who the German graduate student was and not looking at me.
The ice-cream social had been thrown together hastily, and it showed. Maya had bought about ten boxes of ice-cream sandwiches and Creamsicles and laid them out on a table with Happy Birthday paper napkins and some half-chilled bottles of water. As Panhellenic events went, this one did not reflect the high entertaining standards of the majority of chapters at Sutton College.
The turnout was also lower than I expected. Back in my day, women who hoped to pledge a sorority would have taken every opportunity to present themselves favorably to the chapters—or to the fellow rushees. After all, psyching out the competition was a huge advantage. Showing up to a social event such as this, impeccably turned out, head high, and beauty-queen smile plastered on would have earned a girl mega points in Greek society.
So I had to wonder if the low turnout was due to rushees not caring as much about making an impression, or negative attitudes about rush in general, given the ridiculous situation with the Nick Holden campaign. If women were dropping out of rush before pref night, Sheila’s worries would be confirmed, and the future of the Sutton Greek system could be at stake.
As we had discussed on the ride over, Sheila and I split up automatically, the better to canvass the room and start as many conversations as possible. We would mix and mingle and artfully direct topics toward Daria, and information that could lead us to why she was outside the Tri Mu house the night before. Between Sheila and me, we had nearly twenty years of rush-conversation expertise. No one could squeeze info out of a rushee like an experienced sorority woman.
Sheila moved to the left side of the room, and I surveyed the right side. Months of preparation for rush meant that I recognized many of the faces in this room. I had personally reviewed hundreds of letters of recommendation for these women, assigned points to their resumes, uploaded their photos in our database and, of course, been following their social-media accounts as Casey Fenner. There was no reason why I shouldn’t use this opportunity to try to woo some of our top choices to choose Delta Beta. Along with trying to solve a murder. I was nothing if not efficient with my time.
I slowly rotated throughout the room, keeping my face averted from Maya Rodman’s semiwatchful gaze. Soon I found a likely group standing in a corner to join. I recognized several of their faces from the first two days of rush, including a double legacy—someone whose mother and grandmother had both pledged Delta Beta—named Tanya Pyles, an English major from Atlanta.
Not only could I find out what she might have heard about Daria Cantrell, I could get some information on how likely Tanya was to pledge Delta Beta. Although I was probably imagining the strange looks at my wig when I inserted myself into conversation, I rapidly steered the conversation around to Daria Cantrell.
“I never met her,” I said sadly, not having to pretend that emotion. “But from what I read on GreekGossip, it sounds like she was awesome.”
“You know,” Tanya piped up, “you can’t believe everything you read on that Web site.”
I nodded in agreement. “Like anything to do with mouth herpes is probably a complete lie.”
A tall girl with black curls looked at me funny. “Which chapter has mouth herpes?”
“None,” I forced myself to say because saying “Tri Mu” would probably give me away. “So no one knows why Daria Cantrell was walking down sorority row that night?”
“I heard she was doing research for that new Nick Holden documentary,” the tall girl said.
“No,” another woman said. “I have a friend in the Epsilon Chi house. Daria had left her purse in their tent and gone back to find it.”
“At four o’clock in the morning?” I asked skeptically.
“There was a big fraternity party that night,” Tanya offered. The other women all nodded knowledgeably, and I made a note to confirm the party with Zoe. Even so, it seemed like Daria’s presence on sorority row in the middle of the night had been completely accidental, which made her murder all the more tragic. She had been in the wrong place, wrong time.
“I’m sure everyone knows she needs to take a buddy with her wherever she goes, just to be safe,” I said. The women’s expressions told me I might sound a wee bit too advisorish with that instruction. But safety was really important. “Like now.” I grabbed Tanya’s hand. “I need a buddy to go to the bathroom with me.”
Tanya shrugged and followed me out the door of the meeting room and down the hall to the ladies’ room. I was mentally high-fiving myself over a sneaky yet practical way to get Tanya alone to nonchalantly mention how awesome being a triple legacy in Delta Beta would be, when I saw Ginnifer walking toward the bathroom as well.
I still needed to talk to her about turning in the Debs to Von Douton. But if she saw me now, she could blow my cover. I stopped suddenly in front of the water fountain and told Tanya to go ahead. “I’m dying for a drink.”
With a roll of her eyes, she headed into the bathroom, holding the door open for Ginnifer, who didn’t seem to recognize me, or notice me for that matter. I counted to twenty before going in, but just as I reached nineteen, I caught a familiar whiff of Angel perfume. Turning to greet Sheila, I saw instead Alexandria Von Douton walking into the ladies’ room. Did they give the perfume out in Tri Mu bid-day baskets?
Now I wouldn’t be able to dirty rush Tanya or confront Ginnifer, not with Von Douton in the bathroom. But since I still had to go, I went in and found an empty stall.
Before I could do anything, I heard Ginnifer’s voice. “We’re done.”
Von Douton’s silky reply reverberated around the pink tiles of the ladies’ room. “Rush isn’t.”
There was a flush, and through the crack of the door, I saw Tanya go out, wash her hands, and leave. When the door closed behind her, Ginnifer hissed, “I’m not calling again.”
A sour taste rose in my mouth. Callie’s accusations were, indeed, true. Ginnifer had sold us out to Von Douton. But WHY? And how?
“They have to go down,” Von Douton said. “This is how it works at Sutton.”
“There’s nothing left! They’re on probation, rush is delayed.” Ginnifer’s voice rose shakily. “What do you want me to do?”
“Exactly what you’ve been doing. Until it’s safe.”
I pressed my cheek against the cool stall, trying to stay quiet until Ginnifer and Von Douton’s heels clicked away out the door. I still didn’t understand why Ginnifer was working with Von Douton? A sisterhood mentor collaborating with the enemy? Just how was I going to explain this to headquarters? How I eavesdropped in a ladies’ room wearing a wig? And the scariest thought—if Ginnifer and Von Douton were collaborating—had they collaborated on other, more sinister activities?
Like murder?
When I left the bathroom, Tanya was waiting for me, leaning up against the wall, checking her phone.
“You waited for me,” I said dumbly.
She shrugged. “You needed a buddy.”
Maybe she’d be a good Delta Beta.
Then she checked her phone again and giggled. “My mom is going to freak out.”
“Why?” I asked, trying to seem nonchalant.
“The Delta Betas. Another one got snagged by the police.”
“What?” My voice cracked.
“For murder.” She rolled her eyes. “You’d think they would learn how not to get caught.”
I had never found my phone at the bottom of my purse so quickly. I had about two hundred messages. I swore a word that nice legacies shouldn’t use, spun on my heel, and left Tanya in my dust.
My car was squealing out of the parking lot when I realized I’d left Sheila behind at the student union. Once Sheila knew what had happened, I was pretty sure she’d understand why I’d broken our second truce.
Chapter Thirty-one
FOR THE FIRST TIME, I was gratified that the front lobby of the Sutton police station was unmanned and empty. As far as I was concerned, no one needed to know that I was here—or who the most recent occupant of the holding cell was.
I stormed past the reception desk, where no one sat, and into the hall, where no one stopped me from going straight to the depressing gray cell with the disturbing drain in the middle of the room. But before I made it, Officer Malouf stepped out of a nearby office. “Ms. Blythe, you can’t go back there.”
I stopped short. “Oh. Of course. I forgot, I’m sorry.”
Malouf’s eyes softened. “It’s okay, I know you’re probably a little distracted.”
I nodded and looked over my shoulder. “Should I go back to the reception area and sign in with the officer up there?”
Malouf frowned. “Officer? What officer?” He moved past me, back toward the front door. Rookie. I turned and picked up the pace down the hall toward the holding cell.
Malouf realized what I’d done right away, but I had a head start, and the cell wasn’t that far away. Ty was there, and so was Callie, backed up against a wall with markings for Ty to take her picture.
“Callie!” I called out, my voice breaking, going to her with my arms outstretched.
“Crap.” Ty lowered his camera. “Malouf! What did I tell you?”
“She looked so sincere!” Malouf exclaimed.
“Of course she did, she’s Blythe!” Ty looked exasperated. I thought he’d gotten over that with me months ago.
I pulled Callie into a tight embrace. “Let her go, Margot. I’m not done here.” Ty sounded less exasperated but still not superempathetic.
“You are done here. We’re all done here.”
“I told you, you don’t get to decide who gets arrested and who doesn’t.”
“Well, if some people made better decisions, I wouldn’t have to insert my opinion.”
“Margot, it’s okay.” That was Callie, and she sounded a little strangled. I loosened the grip on her throat. “I’ll be okay.”
Sweet girl. So brave. So noble. “I know you will,” I assured her. “When we’re back at the house, and your dad’s lawyer is on the phone.”
“Blythe …” The warning in Ty’s voice was real.
How many times did I have to explain this to him? “As chapter advisor, I have a quasi-legal duty to represent the interests of the sisters of Delta Beta—”
“Even if they confess?”
He was just being stupid now. I wasn’t even going to deign to respond to such a ridiculous hypothetical. “And I would be abdicating that responsibility if I let you book innocent, God-fearing women—”
“Margot!” Callie pulled away from me and put her hands on my shoulders. “I’m so sorry.”
Ever since I first met Callie Campbell, she had burrowed into a special place in my heart. Apologizing to me for the possibly libelous acts of the Sutton PD? This earth did not deserve to host such an angel. “Shh … We’re going to get this taken care of,” I assured her.
“I confessed.”
I blinked. Then I looked at Malouf and Hatfield to see if they had spoken in the soft Southern feminine voice. Neither looked like they had just finished uttering two unbelievable words. I swore to heaven that I would get more sleep and cut back on the coffee because I was clearly having some sort of caffeine-induced hallucination.
Callie was still standing there, cool as a tall glass of cucumber water, looking into my eyes expectantly. “Okay.” I nodded my head. “We’ll get you out of here right now.”
“Margot …” Her voice was distant, now. Coming from a very far-off place …
“Okay,” I repeated. “We’re going.”
Far off down the tunnel, I heard Ty shouting. “She’s going down!”
Then something came up and smacked me in the face.
I WOKE ON some sort of examining table in a back room. I had been covered with a thin polyblend blanket that smelled like solvent and stale coffee. Curiously, my stomach rumbled.
My hand went to my forehead and patted around my skull, which hurt like the dickens. My cheekbone was especially raw and achy. I closed my eyes and felt myself tumbling back down a smooth black tunnel, and I didn’t fight it. Instinctively, I knew it was the safest place for me.
At some point, I was aware of lights again. And voices. And pain. “Ms. Blythe?” I was pretty sure the voice belonged to Officer Malouf, and when I cracked one eye open, I confirmed that. He held his police baseball cap in his hands, rubbing the brim between this thumbs. “Ms. Blythe, you’re awake now.” He seemed relieved by that.
“Did I fall asleep?” I asked even though I knew the answer was negative. Nice girls like me did not fall asleep in police stations.
“You passed out, I think. Are you thirsty?” He reached behind him and lifted a water bottle. My throat felt scratchy and dry, so I motioned for the bottle and took a big drink.
It was all coming back to me. Rush and murders, then the unthinkable. My poor brain only accepted the world in one incarnation. Accepting the words that had come out of Callie’s mouth? It was too much. I wouldn’t process it now.
I took a deep breath and asked the only question I could. “Where’s Callie?”
“Right. Lieutenant Hatfield said you’d probably want to chew him out first.”
“No.” Yet again another nearly incoherent statement. In what world would I chew out Ty Hatfield before I visited my own sister? My priorities would always be sisterhood first, chewing Ty Hatfield out second. He would never understand me.
“I want to see Callie,” I informed Malouf, and put all the authority and weight of my office into that demand. Rather than deny a formidable sorority chapter advisor, he acquiesced and led me down the hall to the place I’d hoped I’d never see again.
Three months ago, I had briefly stayed in this holding cell, a large square with concrete benches and fluorescent lights and lots of gray bars facing the hall. Callie had been here, too, when her then-boyfriend Hunter was arrested for burglary and messing up my nice clean office. But now, Callie was on the inside, and I didn’t even have a knife or a shank or a pack of smokes to give her.
She was on the bench, her knees pulled up to her chest, when she saw me. Her face was determined, with no trace of a smile or her cute dimples to indicate that she was going to laugh, and cry out, “gotcha,” and tell me this was all a joke.
“Callie!” I put my hands through the bars, and she rose to meet me, clasping my hands. “What’s going on?” I whispered fervently.
“Are you okay?” Callie looked concerned about me. I could not love her selflessness more.
“I’m fine,” I insisted. I paused before I asked the next question. I’m not good with facts that alter my worldview. “Did you … really?”
“I did.” She said it plainly, so that I didn’t misunderstand her this time. “I confessed to the murders of the girl in our yard and the other girl at the Tri Mu house.” If I weren’t holding on to her hands, I probably would have lost my balance a little bit.
“Why?”
She glanced briefly at Malouf, then back to me. “I … I don’t know.”
“Why did you confess to this?” An awful thought occurred to me. “Does your mother know? Your sisters? Your grandmother?” The idea was horrifying. An entire lineage of Delta Beta womanhood would have its reputation demolished. Sweet Mary Gerald. Would we ever recover from the scandal?
Now tears formed in Callie’s eyes. “No. They don’t know yet. Unless …”
“It’s on GreekGossip,” I had to tell her. “That’s how I found out you were arrested.”
“Damn,” she muttered, and with that swearword, I could see just how fast incarceration damaged innocent souls. Her big brown eyes pleaded with me. “You have to talk to them, Margot. You’ll have to tell them that everything I’ve done, I’ve done for all of us.”
“You’re going to tell them soon,” I said. “When you get your phone call.”
She shook her head. “I already used it.”
Of course, I should have known that a smart, classy woman like Callie would have a criminal lawyer on retainer. Debs are nothing if not prepared for all eventualities.
“We’re going to get you out of here,” I swore. “I don’t understand why you felt the need for self-defense, or whether you’re truly, medically insane.” I lifted my voice, to make sure that Malouf overheard me. I knew from Law & Order that it was important to start laying the groundwork for these defenses as soon as possible. “You have, after all, been talking to imaginary people at the house for a long time.”
Callie frowned at me, but I just squeezed her hand. She’d thank me eventually.
