Pretty, Nasty, Lovely

by Rosalind Noonan

  “Ask her at dinner,” I suggested.

  “Okay if we leave these photos out?” Patti asked. “We’ll pick up after we eat.”

  “You guys go. I’ll put them away,” I offered, wanting some alone time to mellow out.

  When they left, I changed into my pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt and sat on the floor for one last look at the archives. I set aside the photos they’d pulled that included Lydia. Damn, that girl had a mysterious smile. I had always thought it was calm and placid, but now, looking at these pictures, I saw a crimp in her smile. A glimmer of pain. A crystal goblet with the tiniest chip in the rim.

  The really old photos were still in their envelopes, and I did a quick check of those to make sure Lydia’s pledge class hadn’t slipped in by accident. Nope, nothing there.

  I had started to put the bagged photos back into the box when I realized that the bottom of the plastic file tub wasn’t plastic, but cardboard. Actually, it was a separate cardboard box, black like the plastic tub.

  “I found you!” I said as I lifted it out, sure that the missing photos had to be hiding in there.

  But when I took off the lid, there was cash inside, wads of twenty-dollar bills held together with clips or rubber bands. My fingers touched the edge of the bills, some of them crisp, some of them worn soft as money tended to be. “What was this for?” Lydia had never served as the Theta Pi treasurer, and I couldn’t imagine that a girl my age would keep her entire savings hidden with sorority stuff in the closet. Everyone had a bank account, an ATM card, and a Visa card. What the hell? This was like falling into an old mobster movie.

  Or drugs . . .

  I lifted the packs of cash carefully to see what lay beneath. At least there were no bags of capsules or pills or powder. If Lydia had been dealing drugs . . . I didn’t know if our Theta Pi chapter could come back from a scandal like that.

  I did find a small spiral notebook, not much bigger than a dollar bill, with a list of names inside. I flipped through the pages and saw that there were more than fifty names of guys, all males, some of whom I recognized as Merriwether students.

  Were they lists of potential boyfriends? When I was in junior high I had lounged on the pillows of my friend’s bed and made lists like that . . . the very basic “if he likes me I’ll like him” prospects. But this one went on for pages, and most names had a pert checkmark beside them.

  Rory’s name wasn’t there, thank God. As I was scanning the list and came to Charlie Bernstein, I paused and stared at Lydia’s writing. So was it a boyfriend list? Charlie wasn’t the only nerdy guy on there.

  And no check beside Charlie’s name. What did it mean?

  I didn’t have time to deal with this now. A quick count of the wrapped bills put the money at more than sixteen thousand dollars. What? Wait. My second count came in the same range.

  “Crap, Lydia,” I said under my breath. “What was all this about?”

  This was too much to pass along to Lydia’s mom through Mrs. J. No one had this kind of money sitting around, unless they were hiding it. I thought about contacting the police, a possibility, but it didn’t seem to be part of Lydia’s murder investigation, and Detective Taylor would probably make it all out to be a prostitution ring.

  That thought stopped me cold.

  Lydia as a prostitute?

  She’d always talked about what was “proper.” But the cash and the list of names fit what I would imagine in a business like that.

  A glum feeling came over me as I put the box with Lydia’s cash in my closet and started reloading the photos into the plastic bin. I wanted to be done with this crap, but there was no way I could get it off my mind until I figured it out. That meant a confrontation with the last person I wanted to see right now.

  * * *

  Tori’s room was messier than before, with clothes spilling out of her open suitcase and something nasty growing in the glasses on the windowsill. It was surprising that she could emerge from this den looking so fresh and lovely.

  “You again.” She held a stick of eyeliner aloft. “I don’t have time for this.” She rolled her eyes and walked away from the door, leaving it to fall closed in my face, but I pushed at it and stepped in.

  “I’m going to the movies with Courtney and India. And no, you’re not invited,” she said, drawing a dark line under her eyes.

  “This is Theta Pi business, sister, dear,” I said calmly. There was something about her nastiness that fueled my fortitude. “I’m here about the photos you took. The pictures from your pledge class? The photos of you and Lydia when you were freshmen.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “I saw them in your bag before you left.” Stepping over a thong that had been dropped to the ground, I went over to the open suitcase. The photos were gone from the empty net lining. “What did you do with them?”

  “Um, I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

  “The photos from your pledge class, and others of you and Lydia. You went through the archives, didn’t you? You must have done it when the boxes were still in Courtney and Lydia’s room, before the police even got to them.”

  She turned away from the mirror to stare at me, less hateful now as wariness edged in. “What if I did? The archives belong to all of us.”

  “Right. We share them, but you can’t steal from them. What was it about those photos that you had to have?”

  I had thought long and hard on this since I’d seen those photos in her suitcase. Had she wanted them for her own collection, to feel connected to Lydia? That seemed too compassionate for Tori, and if it was true she could have easily had copies made. No, not that. There was something in those photos that Tori didn’t want us to see. Something about Lydia’s killer? Clues leading to who had put their hands on her neck and choked the life out of her?

  “They’re gone, okay? I destroyed them.”

  “What? Why would you . . . ?” I sputtered, trying to hold back my frustration. “What the hell, Tori. That’s the property of Theta Pi.”

  “I had to get rid of them. They were so awful, they made me sick. So yes, I took them home and I shredded them, okay? Now get off my back.”

  “Why did you destroy them?”

  “I told you, I didn’t like the way I looked in them.”

  “All of them?”

  “Pretty much. It was a bad year for me, and Lydia, she was such a bitch about it. I asked her to let me have the pictures in the archives, just to airbrush myself, and she refused. Then she started taunting me, threatening me that she was going to publish them on the university’s Greek Page and send them to National. She could be such a bitch. She wouldn’t give me the photos, but she promised to keep them hidden if I paid her money.”

  “Blackmail?”

  “It was just Lydia being a bitch. I didn’t care about the money. It was the way she made me squirm . . . and she was supposed to be my friend. My pledge sister.”

  That had been some pledge class. Callous Violet. Lydia the blackmailer. Tori, Queen of the Divas. And Dumb-ass Courtney. The other pledges must have been shell-shocked by that crew.

  “So if you paid her, she agreed to keep the photos hidden away.”

  “Yup.”

  “How much did you pay?”

  “A thousand dollars.”

  That could account for part of Lydia’s stash, but a small proportion.

  “My mom gave me the money,” Tori said, “but it always bothered me to have those pictures sitting around. Like they would float to the surface one day. So when Lydia died, the first thing I did was get rid of them. After the cops searched her room, I pulled them out of the bins. The whole envelope of pictures from our pledge class, just to be sure.”

  “But, Tori, to destroy them? They couldn’t have been that bad. You’re fucking beautiful!”

  “I know, but not always. I used to have . . . well, I wasn’t always this perfect.” She turned to me. “I’ll kill you if you ever mention this to a soul, but I got my nose fixed the summer
after freshman year.”

  Plastic surgery. I should have thought of that. “But to destroy the photos . . . you really can’t think you can get rid of every record of what you looked like back then, do you?”

  “Why not? I got Violet and Courtney to delete my pictures from their files. I fixed the photo from the lobby downstairs.”

  “Yeah, I figured that one out. Not a very good job.”

  “Why are you in my business, Emma? First Graham, and now this?”

  “I just can’t stop caring about my sisters,” I said. Maybe I was a pain in the ass, but apparently not as bad as Lydia. “Why did Lydia torture you about those photos? Do you think it was about the money?” Something that Lydia had plenty of, but I wasn’t going to divulge the treasure to Tori.

  “She never really seemed to need money,” she said, staring into the mirror. “It was about having me under her thumb. Lydia was a secret control freak. I hated that.”

  “Lydia did like having power over people,” I agreed.

  “Who doesn’t?” Tori capped her eyeliner and straightened her shirt. “We’re done here. Two conversations in one day. We’re good until after Christmas, Emma.”

  “Like, wow! I mean, really,” I said, pouring on my best millennial-speak. “I’m so honored you remembered my name.” I was out the door before she could shoot back.

  CHAPTER 32

  The hallways were full of sisters returning at the last minute, and as I dodged rolling suitcases and laundry bags, my head pounded with confusion. All that money. The list. Blackmail. And destroyed photos.

  Beneath the pretense of friendship, Tori had nurtured a bud of hatred for Lydia, and Lydia had given her a pretty good reason to be pissed. But had Tori been pissed enough? Enough to lure Lydia out to the bridge and kill her?

  Back in the suite, Angela, Isabel, and I shared a group hug, while Patti and Defiance sat on the window seat and smoked. I went to my room to talk with Rory, who was staying at a motel on the mountain with some guys on the snowboarding team. He was so animated and pumped about the snow that I didn’t want to bring him down. At one point I did ask him about the person on the bridge.

  “That guy in the hoodie,” I said. “Could it have been a girl?”

  “Could’ve been. It wasn’t a large dude, like a football tackle or anything. It could have been a medium-height guy, or a tallish girl. Why?”

  “I’ve been rethinking things. What if the hoodie person was one of the Theta Pis?”

  “Wow. Rotten to have a traitor in the group. And scary, too. Do the doors in your house lock?”

  He was half kidding, but the grain of truth put me on edge. What if Lydia’s killer was right there in our house?

  “Hold on a second,” Rory told me. He was talking to a guy in the background. With the noise from conversation and the TV behind Rory, this wasn’t the time for a detailed conversation.

  “You have to go,” I said. “We can talk tomorrow.”

  When we hung up, Angela was in the room unpacking.

  “I heard what you said about the hoodie person,” she said as she hung a shirt on a hanger. “Are you talking about the bridge? You think one of the sisters killed Lydia?”

  “I don’t know what to think.” I stretched out on my side, leaning on my balled-up pillow. “But I just found out that Tori was no friend of Lydia’s.” It felt good to tell her about the blackmailing incident, which Angela immediately dubbed “Nose-gate.” We talked about the meanness involved on both sides.

  “We’ve got our share of mean girls,” Angela said. “Every sorority does. The vow we made to always have our sisters’ backs, always support them, always love them? It sounded good at the time. But you can’t turn your back on some of these girls. Some of these senior girls? They’re nasty!”

  “Yeah. They recruited a bad batch that year. The question is, Are any of them nasty enough to kill Lydia?”

  Angela groaned. “It’s hard to imagine a sister doing that. But if I had to pick one? Tori would be my choice. That girl is cold right through to the marrow of her bones.”

  “God, I wish I could get a straight answer out of Tori,” I said.

  “You don’t believe Nose-gate?”

  “That’s one of the few things I do believe. That and the fact that Tori is now seeing Graham Hayden.”

  “What?” Angela gaped at me. “How’d you find that out?”

  I filled her in. “Tori doesn’t want me to tell anyone,” I said.

  “But it can’t be a big secret if she was macking on him right in front of the house.” Angela sat on the bed and rubbed lotion onto one knee.

  “Right. She’s probably going to go public with him soon. Lydia’s been gone a few weeks.”

  “But I don’t like the sound of it. Not one bit. Maybe it’s just because Tori seems to be getting everything she wants now that Lydia’s dead.”

  “The queen bee.” Like in a hive. Where all the sister bees toil and sacrifice and die to protect the queen. That bitchy queen.

  * * *

  That night the house was mostly dark when I crept down the stairs to the kitchen. I couldn’t sleep, and my stomach was growling. I’d skipped dinner, but then I hadn’t been hungry five hours ago. I moved cautiously, grateful to see light streaming into the hallway from the kitchen. Violet stood at the sink, washing an apple.

  We talked about nothing as she made two cups of tea and I considered telling her about Tori and the photos. Violet would be pissed at Tori, but even she wouldn’t stand up to her. And if Violet hadn’t figured out the connection between Tori’s nose job and the disappearing photos by now, she was hopeless.

  As I ate a yogurt and some almonds, I watched her methodically wash three apples. I’d seen this before. It was some weird ritual because she was hungry but afraid that eating this late at night would make her fat. Whatever. I tossed back two almonds.

  When she got to talking about Lydia’s final memorial ritual—“The best ritual ever,” according to someone at National who’d liked Violet’s blog—I edged into the topic.

  “If you can put on your treasurer hat for a sec, I was wondering if Lydia was holding on to any cash for the sorority? From a previous fund-raiser?”

  “Of course not. It all goes into our account at the student bank.”

  “Oh, yeah. Of course. And what about Theta Pi dues? Do you know if she owed anything to the sorority?” I asked. “Was she up-to-date?”

  “She was all paid up.” Violet took an apple from the fruit bowl and twirled the stem off. “Lydia always paid for the whole year up front. It was one of the reasons I believed the story about her family being wealthy. Why are you asking?”

  “Well . . .” Think fast, Emma. I wasn’t going to tell her about the huge stash. So I diverted. “Someone, a frat guy, came to me with some money he owed Lydia. He said he was paying her back for an abortion she had?”

  “Did he?” Violet didn’t flinch. So she wasn’t surprised. “That big-mouth Jacob Rizzo.”

  I paused. Had I heard correctly?

  “Lydia was spitting mad at that boy.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Jacob Rizzo got Lydia pregnant?”

  “I’m sorry, Emma, if this hurts you, but Lydia did not confide everything to all her friends.”

  I wanted to tell her that I was beyond having my feelings hurt. There was much more at stake, more than Violet could have imagined. I wondered if Jacob was on the list upstairs.

  “Lydia was a very private person in her weird way,” Violet went on. “I wasn’t really that close with her, but I found out about her little problem with Jacob in a roundabout way. I was sworn to absolute secrecy, but I guess I can tell you now. Lydia got pregnant with that boy, and she had to have an abortion. You know, that pill you take in the first eight weeks? It’s super-expensive. Like six hundred dollars. So she asked him for the money. It’s only right. But that boy refused to pay. How do I know it’s mine? he says, all high-and-mighty. Disgraceful piece of poo.”

  “Not to a
sk the obvious, but why didn’t she use birth control?”

  “She always did, and Lydia was such a detail person.” Violet buffed an apple on the sleeve of her sweatshirt, then returned it to the bowl. “Lydia would never slip up. But sometimes, things happen. The condom breaks, and you know how the rest of it goes. That was just her bad luck.”

  This faulty condom excuse was becoming a regular refrain.

  A noise at the kitchen door startled us. It was long after Sunday night curfew.

  Violet moved closer, grabbing my shoulders and hiding behind me. “Oh my God, it’s the boogeyman.”

  I would have laughed at that if I weren’t so on edge.

  The bolt clicked and the door opened to reveal a girl hanging on to a guy with wild curly hair. “Hey.” He noticed us immediately. “I got a special delivery.”

  Courtney slid from his shoulder and staggered over to the kitchen island. “Hi.” Her hands gripped the counter, but she had trouble standing up straight. “Hi, you guys. I love you.”

  “You are drunk as a skunk,” Violet declared.

  “She’ll be okay.” The dude at the door was already turning away. “See ya, Court.”

  “He’s so nice,” Courtney gushed. “Bye-bye,” she cooed as the door closed and she turned her glazed eyes on us. “I’m so glad you guys are still up. I love you!” She swayed dangerously but held on to the counter. “Do you want to dance? Dance party upstairs in my room!”

  “Oh, no, you’re not, lil miss.” Violet skirted around the kitchen island to throw the bolt and lock the door. “Your room is my room, and I am going to bed.”

  “Just a little dance party. Dance . . . ,” Courtney sang. “Dance . . .” She lurched forward and doubled over.

  I closed my eyes at the sound of vomit splashing onto the kitchen floor.

  “Oops.” Courtney straightened, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her lambskin jacket.

  “Lord A’mighty, you are going to wake up Mrs. J and the entire house.” Violet had the stern tone of a parent. “And I am not covering for you this time.”

  “But you’re my sister, sister,” Courtney hissed, stumbling toward Violet. She tried to put her arms around Violet, but was pushed away.