When he stepped out of the car, Hatfield didn’t look as pressed and put together as he had the previous times we’d met. Instead of a police-department polo, he had on a nonregulation T-shirt with the Sutton Eagles logo on it, jeans, and boots. Seeing him in off-duty clothes sparked a memory inside me, but it quickly flitted away from all my current stress and worry. Anyway, I was pretty sure he’d been messing with me when he implied I should remember him from … something. Seeing him like this confirmed my first impressions. If I’d met him before, I’d definitely remember Ty Hatfield.
I sat on the front steps of the house, my knees drawn up against my chest. “You rang,” he said, walking up the path. His tone was low and a little uncertain, which made sense since I hadn’t told him what was going on when I called. Some things needed to be seen for themselves. And there was still the potential that secret microphones were lurking inside the house.
I led him back to the office and let him see the damage. His whole demeanor changed. His relaxed and laid-back demeanor changed in a split second, as he unconsciously adopted the same stiff-and-business posture I’d seen in all our previous visits. I’d liked the relaxed Ty Hatfield better.
“Tell me,” he said.
I knew what he was asking. Like I said, I watch a lot of Law & Order. No matter where I traveled, there was always a station that had reruns on. It helped fill the spaces between sorority emergencies.
The details spilled from me. How I’d spent the whole day in here, getting organized and sorting through Liza’s papers. And then some very rude person had trashed the place and ruined all my hard work.
He gave me a level look. Oh. “I locked up about six or so. My colleague Casey just got here from headquarters. I went with him to his hotel, and I came back about half past midnight. I was checking the house before bed when I found this.”
I didn’t miss the speculative glint in Ty’s eyes when I mentioned going back to Casey’s hotel.
But he managed to move on. “Did you see anyone else in the house?”
I shook my head. It was a Wednesday night. Most of the women had retired to bed or to the upstairs TV room. I hadn’t seen anyone else downstairs.
“What about men? Anyone suspicious?”
“That’s redundant.”
“Not always,” Ty drawled. “Anyone from campus? Colleagues?” He paused. “Brice Concannon?”
That was too specific to be the product of random brainstorming. “Brice Concannon?” I echoed. “The fraternity advisor?”
Ty’s nod was dispassionate, but the set of his jaw was tense.
“Why would you think he would be here?”
“He offered to come by.”
I didn’t recall Brice’s offer quite that the same way. “Is there something I should know about him?”
Ty looked up from his notepad and pulled his head back, observing me closely. “Just watch out for him. Sometimes he comes down on the wrong side of problems.”
That was a strange warning, but given their respective positions, I could see where most everyone, and especially a fraternity representative, could come down on the wrong side of things for a man of the law such as Ty Hatfield.
“He wasn’t here,” I said simply.
With a businesslike “hmm,” he took his phone out and made a quick call to campus police, asking them to check out Liza McCarthy’s office in the sociology department.
“She has an office on campus?” I asked.
“Of course,” Ty said sharply. “Why wouldn’t she?”
I looked around the torn-up chapter advisor’s office and the pile of sociology papers that had been previously neatly filed. “Because it looked like she did all her work here.” I pointed and explained my thought process. For once, Ty didn’t act like I was completely worthless.
“I’ll check out her office,” he said, more to himself than to me.
“Is anything missing?” he asked. I startled. I hadn’t even thought about that. I was mostly pissed that someone had the gall to mess up a very organized office.
“It’s hard to tell,” I murmured, but I looked around anyway. After spending the whole day in the office, I had a pretty good mental list of what was in all the piles. I checked the drawers last. That’s when I realized that something had been taken.
“The S&M forms,” I said.
Ty’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.
I sighed impatiently. Really? “Standards and Morals. They’re for bad behavior.”
His lips quirked distractingly. “S&M is for bad behavior?”
“I’ve heard it before, Hatfield!” I said, holding up a hand to cut off any other snarky comments.
His usual antisorority expression was back on the police officer’s face. “Bad behavior, huh? What do you do, put them in time-out for not eating their vegetables?”
I ignored that. For a police officer, he sure didn’t respect organizational rules. “They’re gone,” I repeated. “I put them all in a folder, right here. And someone took them.”
“What kind of information was in them?”
“Confid—”
Ty held out a hand and interrupted me. “Don’t say it.”
“Habit,” I tried to smile. But it was confidential information. And it was hard for me to share it. Protecting Delta Beta secrets had been an integral part of my life for nearly ten years. To talk about it with a noninitiated person was against almost everything I stood for.
But whoever had taken confidential files had violated that confidentiality first. Going to the police was ensuring that other sisters would have their disciplinary consequences kept private.
“It was paperwork for a disciplinary hearing,” I said with resignation.
“For who?”
“A sister.” At Ty’s flat look, I continued reluctantly. “Stefanie Grossman. I’ve never met her. I just looked at the papers this afternoon.”
“What was she being written up for?”
This was the yucky part. “Sexual misconduct.”
Ty rolled his head back. “What is with you people? I thought women were over that Puritan shit.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “It’s a rule. It’s not like the women can’t … engage … in stuff.”
“But they get sent to their rooms without supper if they enjoy themselves?”
“It’s not like that,” I insisted. “It’s about …”I searched for the right word. “Discretion.”
Ty paused. “Okay, got it.”
“What?”
“They can do it, but they can’t let anyone know about it?”
I scrunched up my nose. That was pretty much the rule. Yes, it was old-fashioned. Yes, it wasn’t particularly enlightened. But it was tradition. It was the rule. And those of us who disagreed with the rules were going to change them the Delta Beta way: slowly, and with little to no fanfare.
Ty shook his head again. “I’ll never get sororities.”
Well, at least he was admitting his prejudice. Admitting you had a problem was the first step.
I gave Ty the contact information for Stefanie Grossman from the chapter roster. He walked around the office again, taking notes and gently moving items with his pen, taking care not to touch anything. “We’ll get the place fingerprinted in the next few days.”
“Few days?” I was aghast. On Law & Order, the fingerprinting team was Johnny-on-the-spot.
Ty was nonplussed. “We use a contractor. He has to come in from Greenville.”
“On TV it goes much faster.”
“Well, it’s not like this is an emergency.”
Ty was failing to see the problem.
“But what about … Liza?” I dropped my voice when I said her name, out of respect and solidarity. And because of Tri Mu bugs.
Ty’s eyes sharpened at me. “Have some reason to believe these are connected?”
“Aren’t they?” This was Liza’s office, after all. “First she dies, then her office is destroyed.”
&
nbsp; Ty shrugged. “Could be. Could be some coed doesn’t want her friends to know what she does to her boyfriend on the weekends.”
I threw up my hands. “It’s not like that.” But I stopped there. Because sometimes, it could be like that. Maybe Ty was onto something about these rules.
“What about the computer?” Ty asked.
“What about it?”
“What was on it?”
I pushed back my overgrown bangs behind my ears. “Nothing much. Just chapter accounts. Financial records.”
Ty toed the plastic remains. “Can I take it in?”
“Why?” I couldn’t imagine.
“Tech guys on campus might be able to retrieve the files.” His voice was overly calm and casual. I knew what he was waiting for. My objection. He knew he didn’t have a warrant and couldn’t look at the files without my permission. I could tell he was dying to see what was on the computer even if he was trying to act all cool about it.
I could object, but, really, as chapter advisor pro tem, I would probably need those files to do my job. Why not let the nice police officer try to retrieve them for me?
“Sure,” I said, keeping my voice as casual as his. “See what you can get.” When he looked at me in barely concealed surprise, I added, “I’ll just need a copy of the files on a thumb drive, please.” Our eyes met, and I could see that he saw what I was doing. And for the first time, I caught a glimmer of respect in Ty Hatfield’s very blue eyes.
We scooped up the remainder of the hard drive into a Delta Beta tote bag, and, on his way out, Lieutenant Hatfield paused and inspected the doorframe. “Someone with a key got in here.” I was as alarmed at him freely providing information as I was at the assertion itself. He knocked on the doorframe. “No forced entry.”
A key. Something cold slithered down my back at the word, bringing it all back home again. Someone with a key meant it was someone I had sworn to protect. That sucked.
Chapter Fourteen
I SLEPT FITFULLY that night, probably not getting a full hour in at a time. As a result, not even a three-shot, nonfat, three-Equal latte had me ready for the next day. I had scheduled interviews with all the chapter officers throughout the day, between their classes, and it was imperative that I presented an alert, calm, and competent demeanor to inspire these young women. Instead, I looked less than the perfect Deb woman in my rumpled blouse and jeans, but real pants were beyond me today. Jeans were the most I could muster. At least they were designer jeans.
First up was the scholarship director, Jane Anderson, followed by the social activity director, Asha, and the pledge trainer, Cheyenne. Each report began with the assertion that things were going great overall—and then came the “but,” and the omnipresent drama. Sisters complaining about too-loud music during study hours, pledges not being respectful, which fraternity the chapter would mix with next—it was almost more than I could handle. I realized that this constant flurry was the day-to-day life of a chapter advisor, and something I had never been faced with as a Sisterhood Mentor.
Aubrey St. John was scheduled next. “I know you’re on a tight schedule,” I said apologetically. “If you want to meet later, we can.”
“No, no,” Aubrey said, settling into a chair across from me. “I’m good.”
“We covered most of the chapter stuff the other night after the meeting,” I said. “I guess the big thing I’m trying to figure out is the chapter financial information.”
I was interrupted by a shrill ring from Aubrey’s phone. She shot me a nervous look. “I’m so sorry,” she stammered before reaching into her purse and clicking something to either disconnect or silence her phone. “What were you saying?”
“The chapter’s accounting records,” I repeated. With a slight pause, I remembered the fate of the records in the crunched-up computer that Lieutenant Hatfield had toted to some nerdy IT guy on campus. Looking into Aubrey’s sweet, pretty face, I felt she, of all people, deserved the truth about what was going on. As chapter president, she had almost as much, if not more, responsibility to lead these sisters than I did.
“The chapter advisor’s computer was destroyed last night,” I said, feeling bad that Aubrey’s eyes shot open with alarm. It was a lot for a collegian to take. “Someone broke in and tore apart the office.” I reached across and patted her knee. She looked really worried. “It’s all right. I called the police, and they’re sending someone to fingerprint the office. And Ty—I mean, Lieutenant Hatfield—took the computer to the IT department on campus to see if they could retrieve the files.”
Aubrey covered her mouth with an audible “oh” sound. “But everything’s going to be fine,” I assured her. “They think they know who it was.”
I wasn’t sure why I said that. I wasn’t sure that was even true. But I wanted to reassure Aubrey, who was taking this harder than I thought she would. It always made people feel better if they thought the criminal would be caught. “Hey,” I said suddenly, “why don’t we just meet later about this stuff?” I wanted to let her have a moment, but then I remembered something. “Besides, headquarters sent over a bunch of paperwork for me to review. I bet everything I need is in there.”
Aubrey nodded but then looked worriedly at me. “Are you sure? I really don’t mind. This is my job, and I don’t want to let you down.” Now she looked like she was going to cry. Now I was going to cry. I hugged her then, like she was the little sister I never had. My little-sis status was a sore topic for me, but I never stopped searching for someone who would fill that spot in my heart. Right now, Aubrey St. John needed my guidance, and I’d do anything to support her, even if that meant letting her off the hook a little bit.
I felt a little emotional after Aubrey left. I remembered this particular side effect of living in the sorority house. So many postadolescent hormones, all muddled up together. It wasn’t just our cycles that got in sync; it felt like all our emotions did, too, like we were sponging off each other. Some women didn’t care for that, but as an only child, I relished the feeling of being connected. It was why I first signed up for the Sisterhood Mentor program. I didn’t want to let those connections go.
Today, as I started plugging back into the emotional ebbs and flows of sorority life, I wondered if, as chapter advisor, I needed more distance. Maybe that’s why Liza McCarthy had lived in an apartment instead of in the chapter advisor’s quarters at the house. I wondered if I should take advantage of those rooms during my stay: The tiny hard twin bed in the guest room was only going to feel smaller if this assignment lasted more than a few weeks.
If I thought I needed a break after meeting with Aubrey, it was nothing compared to meeting with Callie. It is a truth universally acknowledged that the toughest job in a sorority chapter is maintaining standards. As S&M chair, Callie not only dealt with every infraction of every rule, but she couldn’t talk about it because she was sworn to secrecy. The only person she could talk to was, you guessed it, the chapter advisor, which, at the moment, was me. Awesome.
Two hours later, Callie had unburdened every little piece of dirt that she was wrestling with, ranging from academic dishonesty to just general bad behavior. Really, you’d think modern girls would know that a man who will leave you for your sister is no man at all. Throughout the conversation, I kept hearing Ty Hatfield’s mocking voice from the night before, asking if I sent girls to their rooms without supper. I could see why people might laugh at sorority standards. I could see why our expectations of behavior might seem archaic. But in the world of sororities, reputation was everything. It was what sustained you; it was the very basis of recruitment. Without a good reputation, you might as well be independent.
When Callie finally took a breath, I decided it was a good time to let her know about the break-in, especially since the only thing I’d identified as stolen was under her purview. When I broke the information to Callie, she seemed stunned. “But that’s confidential,” she said. Her voice was flat, her eyes accusatory.
&
nbsp; “I know,” I said, feeling really bad that this breach had occurred under my watch. “But the police are having someone come in and fingerprint—”
Callie gasped, clutching her hand. “But I have a key! I go in there all the time!”
I made a face. I wasn’t sure how that was going to work. “I’ll ask Ty—Lieutenant Hatfield—how they know whose fingerprints are whose.” I waved my hand as I thought through it. “You know? It probably won’t matter. They’ll probably just fingerprint the weapon that was used on the computer.”
Callie still looked pale and shocked, and it was time again to give another hug to yet another traumatized college student. I hoped it didn’t sound heartless of me, but I couldn’t wait until we’d figured out what caused Liza McCarthy’s death. Then, maybe, we could start to recover.
As I was working through yet more platitudes about time healing all wounds, I heard the blessed sound of the Delta Beta dinner triangle. “Dinner! Time for you to go!” I shot up out of the chair, put an arm around Callie, and walked her to the door. When I shut the door firmly behind her, it was the first time I’d ever been glad to be alone in a Delta Beta chapter room.
Chapter Fifteen
BANGING MY HEAD against a table felt better than most of what I’d been through today. I went ahead and banged with abandon at the table where Casey and I were having dinner at El Loco Taco, the best Mexican joint in Sutton.
“Be careful,” Casey said. I felt his hand on the back of my head, stilling me for a moment. Something slid away across the table. “There. Didn’t want you to get salsa in your hair.”
Casey was a true friend.
“This is so not like you, Margot.” Casey sipped from his margarita, one of four on the table. It was happy hour, and margaritas were two for one. Therefore, I had ordered four. “You love Delta Beta. Your blood is gold and black.”
“It is,” I said mournfully. “But this chapter-advisor stuff is intense. I never realized how the girls just kind of stick a knife in their heart and bleed every single emotion on top of you.”
Sisterhood is Deadly: A Sorority Sisters Mystery Page 7
