Sisterhood is Deadly: A Sorority Sisters Mystery

by Lindsay Emory

  “There is one thing you could help me with …”

  “Name it,” Brice said.

  “I think one of your frats left their goats in our bathroom.”

  IT TURNED OUT that becoming acquainted with the Interfraternity Council advisor had its advantages. Magically, the goats were gone—­collected off our front lawn by a sheepish young Agriculture major. By that time, the goats had taken up most of my afternoon, but I still had time to squeeze in one more project before the ringing of the dinner triangle, an important, long-­standing Deb tradition.

  Why? Because a delta is a triangle. Not all sorority traditions have to involve obscure rituals.

  I booted up the chapter advisor’s computer, not really knowing what I’d find. All those years as a Sisterhood Mentor, I had focused entirely on the collegiate side of sorority life and had relatively little experience with the business affairs that came along with an advisor position. When the screen lit up, I could see from the desktop and a quick look at the saved documents that Liza hadn’t used the computer for any notes or correspondence. It looked like she used a Web-­based e-­mail system, so I couldn’t even check any contacts for those long-­lost relatives I had so briefly fantasized about.

  I wondered how that worked when someone died. Where did your Facebook and e-­mails go? Did your Facebook stay suspended in the Internet ether forever, a living testament to your last status update? What if it was something stupid, like, “Going to the gym?” I shuddered at the thought of such an inadvertent legacy. I made a mental note never to post inane status updates. And to leave my passwords with a good friend who could delete anything unfortunate in my browser history.

  Poking around, I could see the last document saved was from QuickBooks. Finally, something I knew I could recognize. Rows of dollars and cents. I pulled the spreadsheet open and briefly reviewed the chapter’s finances. They seemed a little spotty at first glance, to tell the truth, but if finances had been a concern, you could bet that HQ would have alerted me on that before I left for Sutton. When a chapter’s not financially solvent, that’s the first thing a Sisterhood Mentor has to address on her to-­do list.

  Something about the numbers caught my eye. I wasn’t quite sure what it was, but my brain was yelling that it didn’t look right. It didn’t hit me right away, which is one of the main reasons why I kept turning down a headquarters job in accounting. My excuse was that my brain adds up numbers differently. (Yeah, my college algebra professor didn’t buy it either.)

  I was trying to focus, but then someone opened the door. Again. Maybe Liza had an open-­door policy, but that wasn’t going to work for me.

  Headed in and caught a little off guard was the chapter president herself, Aubrey St. John. I wiped the annoyance off my face. This was the girl who’d shown me where the office was and helped me get acquainted with everything.

  She, on the other hand, was clearly startled by my presence. “I didn’t think you’d still be in here.”

  I frowned at her. “The door was unlocked.”

  “Right.” Aubrey looked back at the door, her cell phone clutched in her hand. “I lost the key Liza gave me.” She smiled charmingly. “President’s privilege. Sometimes I like to come in here and study.”

  What a good girl she was. “You know, I bet the girls in the chapter really look up to you, with all your good habits.”

  Aubrey looked down at her toes in her Jack Rogers sandals, still immaculately pedicured, even in October. “I guess,” she said.

  “I love your skirt,” I said, admiring her wool kilt.

  “Thanks,” she said, absently brushing the cloth. “You could borrow it if you’d like.”

  I surveyed Aubrey’s figure. Although I was about four inches taller than her, we might be the same size around. “It would probably be too short on me,” I said. “But thanks for the offer. I get so tired of my clothes sometimes, wearing the same things from my suitcase.”

  Aubrey’s crystal blue eyes fixed on me. “Then come up and borrow something. Anytime. I’m used to sisters borrowing clothes.”

  My heart squeezed a little at that, it was so sweet.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. Something told me she hadn’t come in to study. Something told me maybe she just needed to talk to someone.

  “I—­I just came to see if you needed anything. If you don’t understand something, let me know, and I’ll explain it to you. If you want.” I looked at Aubrey closely. The words were right, but something was off in the delivery.

  “I swear, you all are so helpful around here!”

  “What do you have there?” Aubrey asked, looking at the computer.

  “Chapter financials,” I said, “I did have a few …” I was interrupted by the sound of two loud male voices coming from the hall.

  Aubrey looked alarmed. Not a lot of men came into the Delta Beta house, and when men didn’t enter often, their presence was mighty obvious. I was ready to storm out and set straight whatever sarcastic police officer thought he could barge in, but then I recognized the voice. It wasn’t a man, it was …

  “CASEY!” I squealed, running to the door and straight into the arms of my best friend, Casey Kenner.

  I couldn’t believe he was here. I turned to introduce him to Aubrey and saw that she had come around to my side of the desk and was staring at the computer screen, her face pale, her mouth open.

  “Aubrey? What is it?” I ran back around to her and put an arm around her shoulder. “Are you okay?” It seemed I was asking that question every third minute lately.

  She saw Casey and was even more stunned, but she still couldn’t seem to close her mouth.

  “Aubrey, meet Casey Kenner, from headquarters. Casey, this is Aubrey St. John, chapter president.”

  Casey smiled at Aubrey, with a big movie-­star smile that darn near sparkled like a toothpaste commercial. Let me tell you this, Casey is gorgeous with a capital G. When I was a little girl, I used to watch classic movies with my grandma Fredrick in the summer. When I met Casey, I told him he was a dead ringer for Cary Grant and Rock Hudson’s love child. And Casey is so classy, he knew exactly what I meant by that.

  I know, I know. You’re wondering why Casey isn’t my boyfriend if he’s so gorgeous and my best friend and he works for Delta Beta headquarters, right? You’re saying, “Margot, that Casey sounds like the perfect man.” Unfortunately, I’m not Casey’s type. And if you’re wondering what that means, it means Casey likes men.

  You might also be wondering how Casey works for Delta Beta when he is a man. He applied for the job and simply failed to mention that fact. Since he has a gender-­neutral name, he got an interview. And once he had that? Well, Casey’s a lot like me. ­People don’t turn him down very often. Casey’s a Delta Beta woman in all but the extra X chromosome. He grew up surrounded by Debs—­his mama, his two sisters, his mama’s mama. Unfortunately, his daddy’s mama was a Tri Mu. He doesn’t talk about her much.

  Casey was a sight for sore eyes. He was dressed impeccably, as always. Today he wore a tweed coat with suede elbow patches, a purple-­striped Oxford shirt, loafers that probably cost more than a car payment, and a scarf tossed just so over his shoulder. It takes a real man to wear a scarf.

  “What are you doing here?” I squealed again before hugging him. I don’t really know why I was so excited to see him. Maybe I needed a break from all the grieving and dramatics at the house. I guess I was relieved to have my fun friend around to help me forget my troubles.

  “I brought the files from HQ you asked for.” Casey pointed at the rolling briefcase behind him.

  “You’re too sweet,” I said for Aubrey’s benefit. I’d known Casey for too long to believe that he drove across three states to bring me files he could have FedExed. Something big was going on, something he needed to be here for.

  Like the sweet girl she was, Aubrey excused herself quickly, and when she did, I locked the door behind her. Casey gave the lock a pointed look. “You wouldn’t believe how busy it�
��s been in here,” I said to explain the locked door before turning to him and crossing my arms. “Now. Shoot.”

  Chapter Twelve

  CASEY’S EYES SWEPT from side to side. “Is the room secure?”

  Normally, I would have laughed. But today, the joke made me nervous. Hatfield’s visit and all the goats and emotions in the house had really put me on edge.

  “What’s in the briefcase?” I asked, toeing the thing with trepidation. With Casey, one really never knew what he packed on trips. It was one of the things I loved about him. That, and his talent at hair.

  Casey waved a hand. “The reports from HQ, like I said. They sent you like, ten years’ worth of documents.” He rolled his eyes. Casey was a big-­picture person, like me. That’s why he was so good at public relations.

  “And Mabel asked me to come down.”

  I frowned. I had just talked to Mabel Donahue that morning. Okay, really early that morning.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Do you know the reason why they sent you here, to Sutton?”

  I shook my head. It wasn’t that big of a deal. I didn’t always know the reason for a chapter visit. Sometimes a chapter had a specific problem it needed help with, like rush or a problem with the university. But sometimes it was just a well-­woman checkup. I was like a gynecologist that way.

  Casey’s face was grim. “A month ago, they got a call from Liza McCarthy, requesting a meeting in Atlanta at headquarters.”

  That was interesting. “How did that go?”

  Casey shook his head. “For some reason, a few days later, she called and canceled. Mabel said she was really upset and talked about quitting the chapter-­advisor position. That’s when Mabel decided that it was time for a Sisterhood Mentor to come and check out the chapter, generally speaking. She thought maybe it had gotten too stressful for some reason or that there was something that Liza wasn’t telling her.”

  “Mabel didn’t say anything about any of this to me this morning,” I said.

  Casey gave me a look that said he loved me but he thought I was ridiculous. “You called her at two in the morning.”

  “Why would I wait until morning to tell her someone had died?” Like that made sense.

  Casey ignored my question. “She didn’t really remember all this until the police officer called this morning, asking about Liza McCarthy.”

  I groaned at the mention of a police officer. “Hatfield.”

  “Who?” Casey asked.

  “The police officer here who doesn’t understand sororities. He’s prejudiced.”

  Casey nodded. He understood.

  I still didn’t understand something. “So why did Mabel send you down here? Why didn’t she just call me and tell me all this?”

  Casey smiled like something was about to get good. “Because right after the po-­po called, Mabel got another call from her hairdresser, who also does the hair of a Mrs. Barbra Kline.”

  My face was probably blank as a board. The name didn’t mean anything to me. I didn’t keep up with the sorority-­gossip scene like Casey did. I was too busy traveling the country and saving the world.

  Casey rushed on, dying to get to the good stuff. “Mrs. Barbra Kline is also known as Mabel’s counterpart at a certain organization we like to call Try Moo.”

  Mu Mu Mu. Also known as Tri Mu. Also known as Try Moo. Or simply, the Moos. Also known as Delta Beta’s sister sorority and archenemy. Yes, those two relationships coincide quite well, thank you.

  Hearing the Moos’ name sent a shiver all over me. “What did the hairdresser say about Mrs. Kline?”

  “Mrs. Kline told the hairdresser that it was a shame about the Sutton chapter of Delta Beta, about to close so soon.”

  I sucked in a breath. “What? That cow!”

  “I know!” Casey said, matching my indignation.

  My mind reeled with the news. So far, I had seen nothing that would indicate that the Sutton chapter was having any problems serious enough to warrant suspension of chapter activities or expulsion from the campus. So basically, that meant that …

  “Mrs. Kline is a big fat liar!”

  Casey nodded like that was no big surprise. “But Mabel’s nervous that Barbra Kline knows something that she doesn’t. And she’s nervous about Liza’s death after that cop said that it wasn’t natural.”

  I tried not to let the worry wrinkles creep onto my face. My insurance wouldn’t cover the Botox. “He said pretty much the same thing to me.”

  “You know Mabel,” Casey pointed out. “She’s a little paranoid about the Tri Mus.”

  I worked through the implications of all this strange, yet juicy information. “She doesn’t think that the Moos put a hit out on Liza—­does she?” I asked, lowering my voice in case the room was bugged. It was almost unbelievable. But these were Tri Mus we were talking about.

  My eyes widened as Casey nodded, slowly. I looked around the office again, wondering if it was secure. What did a bug or a mic look like, anyway? I’d have to tear the office apart again to make sure the Tri Mus didn’t have some secret listening device hidden away in here. I picked up a Delta Beta stuffed honeybee off the bookshelf. I hope I didn’t have to rip her apart like they did in the movies. That would be tragic.

  “Is she afraid that my phone’s tapped, too?” I whispered.

  Casey’s grim look was all the answer I needed.

  BECAUSE CASEY COULDN’T stay in the sorority house (yes, I know, I said he was as good as a member, but he still had a penis, and rules are rules), I went with him to the Fountain Place Inn, an historic motel just off campus. Plus, at the Fountain Place, we could talk more openly. I didn’t think the Tri Mus had the wherewithal to bug every room in Sutton.

  Casey checked in, and I went up to his room with him, still feeling a little uneasy about the news from Atlanta. I remembered the inn well, from my college days. It was where my mom and dad always stayed when they visited me, in separate rooms, sometimes on separate floors. The story was that Mom snored. Or that Dad slept around with every slut on the Florida panhandle. It was one or the other.

  We lay back on the bed, and Casey popped open a flask with the Deb crest on it, mixing drinks with the overpriced sodas from the motel vending machines. I told him everything that had happened in the last thirty-­six hours, knowing that he would understand both my heartbreak and my concern for the chapter.

  “Oh!” I sat up reaching for my phone. “We need to get together with Amanda!” It was too exciting, the thought of my two best friends finally meeting each other. We could go out and hit the Sutton bar scene, which consisted of three establishments lined up on the north side of campus. The town’s forefathers had been pretty strict about that aspect of city planning. I tried calling Amanda three times, but it went to voice mail each time. On the fourth try, I received an automated message that said her voice mail was full. There must have been a Panhellenic emergency to deal with.

  When it got too late to go out (we were, after all, in our late twenties now), Casey drove me back to the Deb house. I entered the secret door code—­the same as the code at every Delta Beta sorority house around the country. Our tech guys at HQ said that was a security risk, but tradition was more important than potential intruders.

  As chapter advisor, it was my duty to check the house and make sure all was well before going up to my room. I wandered through the first floor, picked up a few pieces of trash, and stacked a few magazines. It may surprise some to know that college women aren’t always the neatest ­people. I opened the door to the chapter room, which was still lit softly by the small bulbs in the wooden display cases, accenting just some of the trophies and awards that the house had won in the past seventy years. There were a lot: national awards from HQ, Panhellenic awards, Sigma Chi Derby Days trophies. Looking at these physical reminders of Delta Beta’s excellence only reinforced my belief that Mrs. Barbra Kline of Mu Mu Mu was full of it. Nothing was bringing this chapter down.

  The last stop on my rounds was the
chapter advisor’s office. I flipped on a light as I went through the kitchen, turned left down the back hall, and noticed at the last minute that the office door was cracked. I was one hundred percent sure that I had locked that door when I left with Casey. Of course I had, with the tale of intersorority espionage that he was weaving. I’d never underestimate those Moos.

  But the door was definitely cracked. With a pounding heart, I reached my hand out and slowly pushed the door open. Halfway through, I paused. It was absolutely idiotic to go through this door. There could be anyone in there, just waiting to murder me like they murdered Liza. I tiptoed back to the kitchen, grabbed a large stainless-­steel spatula, and headed back. If someone was in there, they were going to get slapped upside the head. This spatula was industrial strength. It could do some damage.

  I peeked my head into the office and gasped at what I found. Just like in the movies, the place had been torn apart. Papers and books had been knocked to the ground, the Deb Busy Bee ripped apart, the computer smashed on the floor. Next to the wreckage of the computer was the tool that had seemingly smashed the computer monitor: Liza McCarthy’s Chapter Advisor of the Year Award, given by Panhellenic.

  Chapter Thirteen

  AS LATE AS it was, I was tempted to go upstairs to the chapter guest room, crawl under the T-­shirt quilt, and sleep until the next morning brought sunshine, smiles, and a nice big nonfat, three-­Equal, three-­shot latte.

  But no. As much as I wanted to protect my sisters, this was serious. A stuffed bee had been destroyed, for heaven’s sake. I looked up the number for the police station.

  Ty Hatfield drove into the parking lot without any sirens or flashing lights, which disappointed the Law & Order fan in me. On the other hand, the chapter advisor pro tem inside of me was grateful for the lack of attention. On sorority row, police lights could haunt us for years during rush conversations—­especially two police visits in one week.