Mean Sisters

by Lindsay Emory

  But no, the guy at my door didn’t have coffee. He had a search warrant.

  The entire Sutton police department flooded the sorority house while I got on the phone with Atlanta. While I wasn’t sure of the legalities of having the girls’ room searched, I knocked on each door and told everyone to cooperate if asked.

  Turned out, they just searched my apartment. And the office. And my personal effects. The chapter room, the dining room and the kitchen were searched, as well. Whatever judge signed that warrant must have had the same misgivings as I did about searching the personal belongings of thirty unrelated women living in a sorority house.

  After making the rounds, I headed back to the Advisor’s apartment, just in time to see them zipping something small in an evidence bag.

  ‘What are you taking?’ I demanded.

  Ty held up the bag for me and I saw a small glass vial, the sister of the one I had held in my hand the night before.

  Of course, my only response was excitement. This was the clue we’d been waiting for. ‘Where did you find that?’

  ‘Back of the medicine cabinet.’

  I was disappointed with myself. The traveller that I was, I was still living out of my hanging toiletry kit and my three ounce shampoo bottles. I hadn’t even cleaned out the bathroom cabinets. That was really sloppy of me.

  In the Chapter Advisor’s office, police officers removed a bunch of Delta Beta manuals and went through the ritual supplies in the chapter room, which resulted in another frantic call to headquarters. There was privilege to protect and as long as I was a free woman, I was going to try my damnedest to do it.

  When the search was over, Ty walked off with his colleagues, not even staying behind to chat or give me an update. I thought we’d gotten to a better place in our relationship. Apparently not.

  Fifteen minutes after the police rolled out, Casey showed up at the door, grim faced. He shoved a printed piece of paper at me. ‘I’ve been working all morning on this,’ he said.

  I led him into the dining room because I hadn’t eaten and I served up two bowls of fruity puffs with skim milk and sat down across from him at a dining table. He took one of the bowls and started eating, which was a little annoying because both bowls had been for me. After I got a second spoon, I could focus on the sheet he had given me. A reporter out of Charlotte had an ‘exclusive’ about investigations into sex-crazed sororities.

  ‘It’s a five-part series,’ Casey said. ‘I bet I know what the investigation will reveal.’

  ‘And who gave them the exclusive,’ I muttered.

  Casey nodded glumly and shoved a heaping pile of milk-drenched fruit puffs in his mouth. I recognised stress eating when I saw it. A similar sized spoonful went into my mouth. ‘Guess who came by this morning,’ I said with a mouthful of cereal.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The police.’ I paused for effect. ‘With a search warrant.’

  Casey’s eyes rolled up to heaven. ‘Sweet Vidalia, could someone give me a break?’

  He really wasn’t going to like the rest of it. ‘Stefanie Grossman is dead.’

  ‘How?’ He asked. I shook my head, thinking of the quiet, calm way she had lain in the grass. I hadn’t seen any visible cause of death.

  ‘I found her body.’

  ‘Oh, sweetheart!’ Casey’s hand covered mine in sympathy, but I wasn’t feeling as traumatised as maybe I should have been. The night before felt like a strange, slow dream, like one of those paintings where the clocks are melting and people have eyes in the middle of their foreheads. Plus, as harsh as it was to say, I didn’t know Stefanie. I did know Aubrey and her second-degree emotional pain at the hospital had taken my focus away from the trauma offinding Stefanie’s body.

  Because, when you find a body, you realise that it’s just that. Skin, muscle, hair, a shell. A little creepy and not something that you want to do every day, but there was something peaceful about it. It was just … absence. Something else I never thought I’d know.

  I saw Asha walking past the door and I called out to her to ask if she’d seen Aubrey yet. Apparently, she’d woken up and had immediately left to see Ainsley and their parents at the hospital. That was good. At least somebody was going to have a better day today.

  ‘So, aren’t you going to tell me about the search warrant?’ Casey asked. I gave him the few details that I could.

  ‘They found something in your bathroom?’ Casey’s eyes went wide and I wondered if I had missed something.

  ‘It’s not mine.’

  ‘But it matches the one found with Stefanie’s body.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ I said, rubbing my hands over my face. ‘That can’t be good.’

  ‘I am not getting paid enough to rescue you if you get arrested. We’ll have to just lock up the doors and everyone will have to go home. We’ll be done here. Delta Beta will have to close.’

  I stilled, letting all the implications roll around my brain. Surely no one thought that I would do something like that. Not Margot Blythe. I was the defender of the sisterhood. I wasn’t the murderer of the sisterhood. Someone like me stood up for others; I didn’t cut them down.

  Oh wait.

  ‘There is the one other thing I need to tell you.’

  *

  Casey came with me to Amanda’s office. I wasn’t sure why he wanted to accompany me, but he seemed fired up and in his PR mode. We had stopped at his hotel, where he changed into a seersucker jacket, a crisp white shirt and a black and gold striped tie, marked with a tie pin made from his mama’s Delta Beta badge.

  Amanda, on the other hand, was not in such snazzy attire. In a T-shirt and sweats, she looked like she’d been packing boxes since the crack of dawn. It had been a long time since I’d seen her look so rough. Even her usually sleek hair was a little frizzy. And that just wasn’t Amanda.

  She froze when we walked through the door, like she didn’t remember who I was.

  ‘Oh. Margot.’ Well that was a less than welcoming greeting.

  ‘Did I catch you at a bad time?’ I asked, noting the general upheaval of her office.

  ‘What?’ She looked around quickly, clearly distracted. ‘No … nooo …’

  ‘I’m here about the complaints,’ I said, finding it odd that I had to remind my big about Panhellenic complaints about her little.

  ‘She’d like to review them,’ Casey inserted.

  Amanda looked irritated. ‘I already had this conversation with her.’

  ‘Okay, I’d like to review them,’ Casey said as smooth as you please.

  Amanda cocked a finger at him. ‘Carey?’

  ‘Casey.’

  ‘Right.’

  Clearly dismissing him, she moved behind her desk and after flipping through a few things and shuffling an in-tray, she handed me the papers. ‘That’s Ainsley’s,’ she said. ‘And the Eta Eps’ is somewhere …’

  Casey looked over my shoulder as we read Ainsley’s conduct complaint against me. Neatly typed, it described how I had cornered her at the bowling alley and again inside a downtown restaurant and threatened her if she exposed information about the Delta Beta chapter.

  ‘This isn’t right,’ I whispered to Casey.

  ‘What?’ Amanda snapped.

  ‘It’s not right,’ I repeated louder for her.

  ‘What part?’ Amanda seemed exasperated. I could tell we’d caught her at the worst time, in the middle of packing up her office.

  ‘Most parts,’ I replied a little more snappish than I’d intended. She was rubbing off on me.

  Amanda frowned at the paper then seemed to decide something. ‘I can’t help you.’

  ‘What do you mean you can’t help her?’ Casey insisted hotly.

  ‘After today, I’m no longer Panhellenic Advisor. I’m moving out.’ She spread a hand at all the boxes, as if we couldn’t tell what those strange cardboard cubes were used for.

  ‘But you’re still her friend,’ Casey said, with an edge to his voice.

  ‘Of course she is,�
�� I said, putting a hand on his arm. ‘He’s had a lot to deal with today,’ I explained to Amanda.

  ‘And this should be the least of my problems.’ Casey glared at Amanda, but she looked at me instead.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

  I gave Casey a calm-down stare and then focused on Amanda again. ‘A chapter member was found dead last night. The police woke me up this morning.’

  Something a lot like fear flitted across Amanda’s drawn face. ‘That’s horrible,’ she said, her attitude finally subsiding.

  ‘It is, of course. Between that and the Tri Mu investigative reporter …’

  ‘The what?’

  Casey and I exchanged a nervous glance. I shrugged. We might as well tell her; she knew some of it anyway. ‘Charlotte’s Channel 5 is doing an investigative piece on North Carolina sororities and the sex trade.’

  ‘You’ll probably need to prepare a statement,’ Casey said, a little snidely, if you asked me.

  Amanda’s hand fluttered on her chest. ‘Why me?’

  ‘Once they find out the phone sex deal, you don’t think the reporters are going to tromp all over this campus talking to anyone who might know something?’ Casey did a ‘please girl’ look at her. ‘And you’re the Panhellenic Advisor. You know everything about everyone.’

  Now Amanda’s hands both pressed out, fingers spread. ‘Not anymore!’ She looked at me and I could see the panic rising as she processed this. We were similar in our concern for our sorority. ‘How did the reporter find out about the s-e-x thing?’

  I shook Ainsley’s complaint in my hand. ‘How do you think?’

  Casey took that opportunity to be a little dramatic and make a point. ‘And that’s why you should be a little more understanding when your friend needs some help. We are dealing with issues bigger than ourselves, here.’

  Amanda looked at him with solemn eyes. ‘What do you want me to do? Ignore a properly filed complaint?’

  ‘Yes,’ Casey said. ‘That’s exactly what you should do. Bury it.’

  Silently, Amanda put out her hand and took the papers from me. She dropped them in her overflowing trashcan. ‘What the hell.’

  She winked at me. ‘I’m not Panhellenic Advisor anymore.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The second half of Law & Order was always my favourite part, where the pieces started to come together and there was some big twist that had everyone wondering if they had the right guy or not. So I wasn’t too pleased when I saw the twist coming – the egotistical, cold investment banker was suddenly broke and desperate with a new motive of protecting his mother who had dementia – and there was a frantic knock at the door.

  ‘MARGOT! DO YOU HAVE CHANGE FOR A DOLLAR?’

  I sank down into the couch cushions. Maybe if I stayed very, very quiet they wouldn’t know I was in here and they could find quarters elsewhere.

  Bang! Bang! Bang! ‘MARGOT! WE NEED QUARTERS FOR THE VENDING MACHINES IN THE YARD!’

  In the … what? I was on my feet and out the door faster than Elliot Stabler could slap cuffs on an egotistical investment banker.

  Sure enough, there were five vending machines in the front yard. I looked up and down sorority row. Only our house had these new additions. The Debs were slowly filtering out of the house, looking at the high fructose corn syrup version of Stonehenge in our yard.

  I looked around again, sure that I’d see a broken down Coke or Frito-Lay truck that had to unload their vending machines in order to fix a flat. You know, something reasonable that would explain this.

  But I had a funny feeling.

  ‘Quarters!’ I yelled. ‘Who has quarters?’

  One girl took a debit card out of her pocket.

  I shoved my bangs away in frustration. ‘No. Actual coins,’ I bit out.

  Someone else had dumped their purse to the ground, picking through the receipts and lip balms and emergency granola bars. ‘Here!’ She yelled in triumph. ‘I have forty-five cents!’

  A sister in running shorts ran up to me with a quarter and a dime. I eyed the machine in front of me. That would be enough. For now.

  We put the coins in, hearing them slip and slither down. Then. Nothing. We all looked at each other.

  ‘What button do we push?’ The selections looked standard. Coca-Cola. Sprite. Root beer. Nothing seemed out of line. But the very fact that we had vending machines in our front yard was making me suspicious.

  My fingers hovered over the buttons, like it was an action movie. If I picked the wrong one, we’d all go boom. Or we’d have a soft drink. One of those two options.

  I reached for the Diet Coke button and paused. Surely, if this was a trick, someone would obviously plant a surprise under the Diet Coke button. Because this was a sorority house. Duh.

  So I went to the orange drink. No one I knew drank orange soda. ‘Stand back everyone,’ I ordered. Twenty women obeyed, creating a ring of space between me and the collegiates. With a steadying breath, I pushed the button for the orange soda. Nothing happened for a moment and then the familiar sounds of metal machinery, maybe a lever, filled the air and an aluminum can rolled into the opening below.

  Sighs of relief encircled me and ladies stepped forward to see what the can looked like. I too, was momentarily relieved but when I reached for the can, I saw the Greek Letters that had been glued onto it. Trikes.

  My lips formed a warning, but it was too late, a cloud of orange smoke shot out ten feet, propelling a thick gas and covering anyone in its radius.

  Like me.

  ‘Someone call the police!’ I yelled. ‘We’ve been hit.’

  *

  The Delta Beta sorority learned many lessons that day. One, no good comes from vending machines, especially ones that show up suspiciously in your front yard. Two, the police do not take vending machine terrorism nearly as seriously as you’d think they would.

  I mean, yes, they set up a perimeter around the yard and yes, they donned hazmat suits to come over and test the orange powder that coated my skin and, to a lesser extent, five other sisters. But once they determined that it wasn’t Anthrax, it was like they couldn’t care less. Let me tell you something. If you’ve never been approached by someone in a hazmat suit with a swab, it changes your life. For real.

  Of course, Lieutenant Hatfield was there, taking me oh so seriously. ‘When are you getting that security system?’ He drawled.

  I spread my orange arms at the front yard. ‘What security system covers the outside?’

  Ty considered that. ‘A big fence. That’s what you need. With the rolled barbed wire on top.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘And maybe some big German Shepherds patrolling.’

  ‘With your luck, they’d be drugged and painted pink.’

  I looked at him with accusatory eyes. ‘That’s a horrible plan. And I know what it’s like to be painted.’ Apparently, the exploding ‘gas’ from the can had been a fine mist of paint, like the stuff that’s used in paint ball, which is a game played by grown men pretending to be ten. ‘I don’t know if I’ll ever get this off,’ I said, looking at my arms. It was my bad luck that I had short sleeves on today. ‘I’ll probably have to shower ten times in a row. I’ll be all wrinkly.’ Ty’s eyes got a little intense and slid down my body when I said that. But it couldn’t be what it looked like. I was orange, for heaven’s sake. I’d never known a man who liked orange paint on a lady and nothing else.

  ‘And when are y’all going to take these away?’ I demanded, trying to get his mind off my orange body in the shower.

  Ty looked over the five vending machines. ‘Not our job.’

  ‘Whose job is it?’

  He lifted a shoulder, cool as you please. ‘Yours.’

  ‘What are you people good for?’ I demanded. ‘I thought you were supposed to protect and serve. Serve us! Protect us from stupid frats putting goats in our bathroom and Coke machines in our yard!’

  Ty smiled a little bit at that, like my demands were amusing and not a
serious plea from a concerned individual. ‘Margot Blythe, I believe you can protect and serve yourself.’ Then he took the tip of his index finger, had the nerve to pop me gently on the nose and strolled away, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Of course he didn’t. He wasn’t painted orange.

  The police drove away and we were left with five vending machines in our front yard. That’s when the Debs learned another, very important lesson: do not try to move a vending machine. I had always wondered about those stickers that showed a stick figure being crushed under a vending machine. I had thought they were for people stupid enough to try to shake a machine.

  I was right.

  And once a machine falls over, you can’t pick it back up. I left several messages around town for companies that managed these things and, lo and behold, their machines had been stolen the night before. I told them to come pick them up. For the rest of my life, I was going to be haunted by the mystery of how fraternity pledges managed to steal not one, but five heavy vending machines, stock them with paint-propellant cans and deliver them to our yard in complete silence.

  It was a mystery that ranked up there with some of the wonders of the world. Like Easter Island. Or the pyramids.

  Of course the Trikes had done it. They always were the nerdy engineering fraternity.

  I called over the other ladies coated in paint and told them to make a spa appointment and send the bill to me.

  Then I waited until the vending machine owners showed up and hauled the things away, making sure to tell them to dump whatever was inside. I had a lot of thinking to do while I waited. I thought about the fraternity prank tradition and sorority house security and whether we could take care of ourselves. It really wasn’t in my nature to be reactive. As a Sisterhood Mentor, when I saw problems at chapters, I moved ahead, suggested solutions and provided leadership.

  As Chapter Advisor here, I hadn’t done that. I had been caught off guard by circumstances, by secrets revealed and by outside forces who could mysteriously show up at night and throw our chapter into complete disarray.