“AMBUSH!” I screamed. “BACK IN THE HOUSE! NOW!” I waved my hands at the net of water balloons above our head, and enough people looked that it caused a chain reaction. Sisters looked and screamed, then began pushing each other and moving in all different directions.
The problem with the plan was the one I’d previously identified. By alerting the chapter to the threat, I alerted our enemy. In the next second, the cord was pulled from somewhere off stage left. The balloons fell from the front-porch ceiling and nearly fifty young women were drenched. Hair plastered, shirts transparent, just the way fraternities like. Those jerks.
They weren’t going to get away with this. Eta Eps lined up in the yard, taking pictures and laughing while my girls were wet and mad and … sticky? Really sticky. Sticky like … I lifted my shirt and smelled. Grape? Lemons?
I felt coated in a gluey substance and … I gasped, reaching up to my hair. Other women were doing the same. I wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but there was something else in those balloons besides water. Something that felt a lot like flavored gelatin. Something that was going to be a bitch to get out of fifty prideful heads of hair.
As nearly everyone tried to cram back in the front door, I moved to the porch rail instead, ignoring the crowd of Tri Mus that had innocently wandered over from their house (yeah, right).
“You!” I pointed at one of the Eta Eps in a top hat who wasn’t taking pictures, the gentleman that he was. “What’s your name?”
“Clark?” His voice raised as if he were uncertain about his name, but I knew that wasn’t it. He just wasn’t sure if I was about to kick his backside.
“Tell your brothers that this was not funny.”
One of those brothers snickered at me from nearby. I focused my chapter-advisor death glare on him instead. “One day, when you least expect it, someone will get revenge. I guarantee it.”
The Eta Eps listening to me were not impressed. “Yeah right,” one called out.
“Girls don’t prank,” another one said. “They get pranked.”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” I said, sounding entirely too much like a grown-up. “What’s the point of pranking us, then?”
“Respect!” one yelled.
“Honor!” another one called out.
“Legacy!”
I rolled my eyes. Some legacy, filling water balloons full of Jell-O. Fraternity traditions were so weird.
Chapter Nineteen
THE MONEYMAKER WAS just as I remembered it from my own college days. One of the three bars allowed on the north side of campus, it sat in the middle, with Pete’s Downhome Saloon on the west and Shotz, the shot/sports bar on the east. Pete’s Downhome was a casual type of place that served ice-cold drafts and burgers between two and seven and peanuts in the shell all day long. Shotz changed themes and names every three years or so. When I was a freshman, it was a Daiquiri bar named the Easy Go. (Someone in town had objected to the name Easy Come.) My senior year, it changed to a martini bar, Manhattan Social; but the college kids didn’t take to seven-dollar martinis. Shotz looked way more appropriate for the demographic.
But the Moneymaker was a venerable Sutton College tradition since 1973. It was the only one of the three with a dance floor big enough to host fraternity and sorority events. As such, it was home to the Greek community, and I had spent a lot of time within its hallowed halls.
It was dark, lit with neon signs and sconces that looked vaguely like fishing nets draped over bared breasts. I stood inside the door for a moment, letting my eyes sweep over the familiar wide-plank floors, the rough bar tables inscribed and carved with every symbol, number, and letter imaginable. As chapter advisor, I arrived early. The rest of the chapter wouldn’t be here for another hour or so, fashionably late as ever.
Women join sororities for three major reasons, in my experience: friends, boys, and fashion. While the rank differs for each individual woman, these are the top three, for sure. And tonight, there would be all three. The ladies would party and have fun with each other, dressed to the nines, and there would be lots and lots of cute Alpha Kapps to dance with.
As chapter advisor, I couldn’t be on the prowl for “boys,” and I couldn’t hang out with the girls as friends, but I could definitely hold my own in the sartorial department. After I had triple-washed the gelatin from my hair, Casey helped me pick out my tank dress, really the only bar-type dress I had in my suitcase—Sisterhood Mentors don’t get out much. My heels added three inches to my already tall frame. Casey was a genius with hair, but even he couldn’t help with my bangs. It was all Zooey Deschanel’s fault.
As I expected, Casey left my side soon after we arrived and began to circulate, and as more and more Debs and Alpha Kapps entered, I got busier and busier. The underage sisters and brothers were checked and not given the stamp on the back of the hand that their elders were. Not that it mattered, but we did have the law to worry about.
When the party warmed up, I circulated to people watch in both an official and unofficial capacity. Casey was captivating a group of girls by the bar, which wasn’t fair to the Alpha Kappa brothers who wished they could get some female attention. Jane and Asha hit the dance floor, jumping and singing along to songs and pulling in their sisters to form a wide circle, as girls had done since time immemorial.
I saw a blond head ducking down as I circled by a booth. “Aubrey!” I called the chapter president’s name. “AUBREY!” I had to yell over the music when she pretended she didn’t hear me. “I need to talk to you.” I crossed my arms and tapped my foot, making it clear that she wasn’t getting away from me this time.
With a quick, embarrassed glance around, she slid out of the booth more gracefully than I had ever seen anyone get out of a booth. And her dress fell perfectly, as she stood, without a wrinkle in sight. Really impressive.
Once I had her undivided attention, I started in. “Look, you need to answer for your behavior today.”
She looked around again quickly. “Do we have to do this here?” Her voice was a desperate plea. I would be embarrassed, too, if I was caught in Tri Mu letters, which is exactly what I said.
I continued yelling over the music. “What in the world were you thinking?” I knew people could hear me, but after what I’d learned today, Delta Beta’s reputation was at risk. “Wearing a Moo T-shirt? Do you want people to think of you like that?”
Aubrey looked stunned. “You saw me? In Try Moo letters?”
“And they were hideous,” I added for good measure.
“That wasn’t me, Margot, I swear.” She wrung her hands roughly. “It’s … I mean, I should have told you. Everybody knows. But I don’t know how people will take …”
I made a motion that she should speed it up.
“You see, I have an identical twin.” Aubrey bit her lip in a gesture that would have been adorable if I hadn’t seen it on a Tri Mu just hours before.
I was shocked. This was so Law & Order. I never knew this happened in real life. “Really?” I wasn’t sure I could believe this. “What’s her name?”
Aubrey swallowed, hard. “Ainsley St. John,” she added. “We rushed together as freshmen and because everyone had mixed us up our whole life, she decided she wanted a different sorority. You can ask anyone,” she added in a rush before closing her eyes, clearly mortified. “It’s hard to hide the fact that you have a twin sister at a campus this small.” Her perfectly glossed mouth flattened. “Especially when she’s president of another chapter.”
“Your identical twin sister is president of Tri Mu?” I asked again, just to make sure.
Aubrey nodded glumly, and I took her in my arms. “You poor, poor thing,” I said, stroking her hair. I couldn’t imagine the trauma that Aubrey had to endure on a daily basis, especially when idiots like me mixed them up. Having a Tri Mu identical twin? Could it be worse? “I’m just so relieved. Pale pink and bright orange are not your colors.”
Thankfully, Aubrey accepted my apology,
and I resolved to watch what I said about Tri Mus around her in the future. I didn’t want to add to her heartache and humiliation.
When I let Aubrey go back to her table, I turned and found myself face-to-face with Ty Hatfield. Before I could get a word out, he had wrapped his arm around my waist and pushed me back three steps onto the dance floor.
Out of his police polo, Ty wore a dark blue plaid button up tucked into jeans with scruffy boots. He smelled like pine trees and soap, and pressing up against him was, unfortunately, one of the better experiences of my day. I could have fought him off, but it wasn’t often I got to dance, much less with a hot cop to a slow country song.
I linked my hands around his neck, his hair still slightly damp from his shower, brushing the back of my hands. Thanks to my high heels, I didn’t have to look too far to watch his face in the dim light as we slowly rotated in our own little circle.
Even as I was enjoying the feeling of being in a man’s arms again, I hadn’t forgotten that Ty Hatfield had not been forthcoming with information to me. In fact, I had the distinct feeling he was playing some game of his own, one that I didn’t understand.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, proud that I remained levelheaded and calm while pressed up against a hot John Wayne-esque rookie.
“I heard there was a party.” I felt his shrug, up close and personal as his chest and shoulder muscles rubbed up against me.
I pulled back a little to get a better look at him. “You don’t seem like the party type.”
There was the patented Ty Hatfield squint. I was a little concerned I was getting used to his facial expressions. I could almost tell the differences between his squints. Like this one, his “slightly interested” squint.
“What type do I seem like?” he asked. I could feel the rumble of his deep voice from his chest as it pressed into mine.
I pretended I was thinking about it. But I knew my answer already. “You’re the Law & Order type.”
A rare smile was pulled out of him. “Like Elliot Stabler?”
My heart thumped extra hard at the name of my crush. “You wish,” I said. Although if Stabler wasn’t available, Ty Hatfield would probably do in a pinch. If he wasn’t on my shit list.
“Seriously,” I said, focusing back on the job at hand. “I’m chapter advisor, and it’s my duty to make sure no uninvited boys are at our events.”
“Boys?” Ty lifted a brow at me, and damn if my heart didn’t thump extra hard again.
“Uninvited guests,” I amended, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.
After a beat, Ty answered my question. “I’m an Alpha Kappa.”
“Which chapter?” I asked, after I was momentarily distracted by his hand gently sweeping up my back.
“This one.” He tilted his head toward the group of young men currently dancing to a new Miley Cyrus song. The answer stunned me. Ty had to be around my age, and if he was an Alpha Kappa who went to Sutton around my time, I would have known him. We would have been at many of the same events.
I searched his gaze, racking my memory. Ty Hatfield. Why didn’t I remember him? I wondered if Ty was a nickname, short for Tyler or Tyson or Tyrion. Maybe I would have known him by a different name? Before I could coax anything from my memory, there was a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see Brice Concannon, in a crisp shirt, tie, and jacket, his dark wavy hair gelled to preppy perfection. Dang.
“Hi,” I said in surprise. What a nice surprise it was. “What are you doing here?”
Ty’s hand pulled me closer and I remembered what I was doing. Sort of. “Are you an Alpha Kapp, too?” I asked Brice. Maybe that’s why he’d come to the mixer. “Do you know Officer Hatfield?”
“Just through official means,” Brice answered.
I wondered at the tightness around Ty’s mouth at that answer, but then I saw something I really had to address.
“You’re an Eta Ep!” I exclaimed, pulling away from Ty and focusing on the small circle pin on Brice’s lapel. I guessed fraternity council advisors didn’t have to hide their Greek affiliations like Amanda had to.
“I am,” Brice said proudly.
“We need to talk.” I put my hands on my hips—the best pose to get someone to take you seriously. “The Eta Ep chapter perpetrated an egregious prank on my ladies today. Have you ever stuck your head in a tub of gelatin? If so, you’d know that this is serious.”
But Brice was smiling, secure in his charm and Kennedy-esque good looks, which had probably gotten him through high school and college with the bare minimum of Cliff’s Notes and cribbing off math-club nerds. As much as I wanted to bask in those white-teeth good looks, I wanted him to put an end to the pranks more.
“So serious, in fact,” I continued, “that I might just have to press charges. Detective Hatfield? Can I do that?”
I had barely gotten the question out before he said, “Absolutely.” For a man who wasn’t big on immediate affirmations, the speed that he gave it made me suspicious. All of a sudden, I had a feeling Ty Hatfield wanted to impress me. Or Brice. Which one, I wasn’t sure.
Brice caught on and quickly changed his tune. “Oh no, let’s not. I mean, I’m not the Eta Ep chapter advisor, but I will communicate your feelings to the chapter.” He hit me with another charm-blast smile. “It shouldn’t happen again.”
“It better not,” I said, struggling to remember that I was striving for stern, not giggly and swoony. “What’s with the pranks these days, anyway?” I directed the question to both gentlemen, fraternity alumni and responsible role models. “It seems like the boys have gotten more reckless and dangerous.”
I thought of the fear and trepidation of the girls at the chapter meeting. “Chapters are instituting buddy systems. Women shouldn’t have to live in fear on their own college campus.”
Before either came up with a response, as if to prove my point, there was a commotion coming from the booth where I had left Aubrey.
I heard shouts and screams, all female, and nearly all semiprofane. I broke away from Ty and Brice and ran toward the booth, pushing and shoving my way through the crowd that had instantaneously gathered.
“Get!” I shoved at someone’s back. “Out!” I pulled on a shirtsleeve. “Of my way!” A sharp elbow to a stranger’s kidney. Sorry about that. Sorority casualty.
Then I saw what everyone else had gathered to see: Callie Campbell and Aubrey St. John, the chapter’s president and S&M director, screaming into each other’s faces and periodically grabbing a handful of nearly perfect blond hair. The scene almost broke my heart. They both had really good hair.
Chapter Twenty
I PUT CASEY in charge of the mixer, shoved Callie in my car because she was closest, and told Cheyenne to take Aubrey home.
The ride to the house was short and silent. I opened the door for Callie and followed her in, wondering what my job was here. Chapter advisor was halfway between a boss and a mom, and I had no experience with either position.
“Callie,” I said sharply after we were safe in our Delta Beta haven.
“Yes?” Her voice was shaky and tentative. The entry was lit by a single lamp on a table, and I was reminded of too many nights in high school when I missed curfew and was chewed out when I got home.
I sighed. Callie was a good girl, she knew when she’d screwed up. “I’ll see you at the S&M hearing in the morning. Nine o’clock sharp.”
She nodded, and I couldn’t tell if that was relief I saw in her trembling lips or guilt.
Upstairs, there were screams and the sound of a movie explosion. I remembered that the pledge class had their sleepover tonight. The mixers were off-limits for pledges until after initiation. Some called that hazing; I called that wise resource management. I briefly considered joining in the fun, but I remembered that I had a nine o’clock sharp meeting the next morning and my twenty-seven-year-old self needed a tad more sleep than any of the eighteen-year-olds upstairs in the TV room.
AS THIS WAS a f
ormal Standards and Morals hearing, proper pin attire was required. I dressed in a burgundy Michael Kors dress, my pearls (of course), and my sturdy Cole Haan air pumps. My Delta Beta pin was over my heart, and my monogram was on my leather attaché for note taking. Before bed the night before, I’d drafted the necessary S&M paperwork with the details I could remember, since the prefilled ones had been stolen during the break-in.
Twenty steps down the hall, and I was in the chapter room, setting up for the hearing. Three chairs on one side of the table, one chair on the other. I placed a Bible on the table. It wasn’t strictly necessary, but the Law & Order geek in me really hoped to swear someone in one day.
Callie was the first one to arrive, dressed supercute in a J.Crew wool dress with a flared skirt and stacked wedges. I self-consciously pushed my bangs back when I looked at her perfectly arranged waves that framed her dimpled adorableness.
“Oh, Margot,” she rushed out, coming to me. “I wanted to say how sorry I was for last night.”
I patted her upper arm. “It’s okay.” I wanted to tell her that I expected better from her. Or that the descendant of Mary Gerald Callahan—her namesake, for goodness sake—needed to be a leader. But I knew she knew those things; it was written all over her face. She felt horribly guilty, and I was satisfied that was punishment enough.
Callie settled into the left chair behind the table, and we’d been going over the forms I’d started when Aubrey walked in. Callie froze next to me, her eyes locked onto Aubrey’s entrance. While Aubrey was also dressed appropriately in a twin set and trousers, there was something not quite perfect about Aubrey this morning. And that made me worried. The only time I’d ever seen Aubrey not perfect, she was actually not Aubrey at all. And even then she was almost perfect, except for her choice of clothing. Aubrey had her hair pulled back into a tight, high bun, which I’m sure was a fine fashion choice and probably necessary if she woke up late, but it only accentuated how stressed and drawn Aubrey’s face was.
Sisterhood is Deadly: A Sorority Sisters Mystery Page 10