Sisterhood is Deadly: A Sorority Sisters Mystery

by Lindsay Emory

  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 never knew 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 serve and protect. 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 serve and protect 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 left, 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 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. During my wait, I had a lot of thinking to do. 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. Forces like murderers. Or fraternities.

  A sick feeling gurgled in my stomach. What if the two groups weren’t mutually exclusive?

  Pranks were getting more dangerous. And sorority women were feeling fundamentally unsafe. I took a deep breath and realized, Ty Hatfield was (unusually) right. I had to serve and protect myself.

  Chapter Thirty-­five

  AT THE POLICE station, I demanded to see the officer in charge of the Liza McCarthy investigation. That sounded really official.

  Unfortunately, no one was there to hear my authority in person.

  Seriously, what was with this town?

  I stumbled down the hall to Ty Hatfield’s office. Was it bad that I now knew how to find it on my own? I opened the door and saw Ty behind his desk, but he wasn’t alone.

  Professor Dean Xavier sat across from Ty, turned, pointed at me, and said, “That’s her. That’s the one who blackmailed me.”

  I’m not ashamed to say, I shut the door pretty quickly.

  Of course, I didn’t go anywhere. I was still frozen in the hall, wondering what the heck the sociology professor meant by that when Ty came out in the hall. “Come with me,” he said. We went two doors down to another office. It was the same as his, with a window, a bookshelf, a desk, and two chairs, except you could tell this one was currently unoccupied. “Stay right here. Do not move.”

  He left before I could tell him why I had come.

  Five minutes later, Ty returned. “Come with me,” he said again. But this time, I didn’t feel like obeying his every little order.

  “Look,” I said, holding my cell phone up to emphasize. “I don’t appreciate being ordered around. I came down here to have a civil conversation about the Liza McCarthy investigation. I don’t appreciate being held in custody in an office with no Wi-­Fi!”

  He took a step towards me, his tall body seeming taller when he was looming so impressively. His finger went up too, presumably to emphasize. “I don’t appreciate spoiled sorority girls withholding relevant information to a murder investigation. Come. With. Me. Now.”

  I went, although I didn’t appreciate being called a girl. I was a full-­grown twenty-­seven-­year-­old woman.

  We returned back to his office, and Dean Xavier was still there. He looked nervous when he saw me. Here I thought we’d left on good terms.

  Ty took charge of the room. He pointed at me. “Professor Xavier, are you sure this is who you’re talking about?”

  Xavier licked his lips and his eyes blinked quickly. “Yes, this is who I was telling you about.”

  “You’re making a positive identification that this woman blackmailed you.”

  “WHAT?” I couldn’t help but exclaim. I had never officially blackmailed anyone in my whole life.

  But Dean Xavier apparently disagreed. “She came to my office and said she had Liza McCarthy’s records and would expose the department if I didn’t do what she said.”

  I couldn’t believe it. It was a complete falsehood wrapped up in just enough truth to make it dangerous.

  “What did I want you to do?” I asked him because I was curious. I had no clue what he was talking about.

  Ty looked at me like I shouldn’t have said anything. But really, did he expect me to come in here and not talk? He obviously didn’t know me that well.

  Dean swallowed, hard. It was so obvious he was nervous. What could he possibly be scared of? Me? No one had ever been scared of me. Except that chapter in Miami. They were in big trouble.

  “You wanted a permanent position in the sociology department,” Xavier said in a shaky voice. “You said if I didn’t hire you, you’d tell everyone that we knowingly approved of Liza McCarthy’s unethical research.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh in his face. “That’s so stupid! One, I’m a philosophy major. Two, if I was going to blackmail you, I wouldn’t publicize Liza McCarthy’s research, I’d let everyone know about how you like to tie girls up and [redacted due to sorority standards].”

  Dean’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. Ty’s eyes closed, with an “I wish I hadn’t heard that” expression. Me? I wished I had thought through that statement before sending it out of my mouth.

  There was an awkward silence. Ty was the first to speak. “Thank you for coming down, Professor Xavier. We’ll stay in touch about the investigation.” He led the still gaping professor out and when he returned to the office, I had some choice words to say.

  “Him? You’ll stay in touch about that investigation? But you won’t keep me updated about our investigation?”

  He ignored that question. “What he had to say looks very, very bad.”

  “Wait until you hear what I came to say.”

  Ty grimaced. “Now what.”

  “I think I know who might be behind all this.”

  “Who?” his voice was weary, but his eyes were, as ever, alert.

  “What if this was all a stupid, misguided prank?”

  “A prank?”

  “The fraternities, Ty. It’s prank week. We’re talking about groups that are attacking women with Jell-­O.”

  “I don’t think that’s the
same thing—­”

  “And vending machines that spray orange paint.”

  “Really not the same thing.”

  I held up my hand. “I’m not saying they murdered Liza on purpose. Maybe they just were playing a joke on Liza, and it went horribly wrong.”

  Ty cut me off. “We know what the murder weapon was.”

  That was news to me. “What was it? Did it come back in the tests?”

  Ty nodded slowly, watching me closely. “Botox.”

  I laughed at the very unfunny joke. Then I saw he wasn’t joining in.

  “Wait. Are you serious? You can die from that?”

  “When it’s injected into someone in a large enough amount.”

  “So someone can just walk up to me and inject me with a huge amount of Botox and I’ll die?”

  Ty made a face like that was no big deal.

  I put my hands on my hips and stared at him.

  “Well, I’d think you’d notice that,” he allowed.

  “Why didn’t Liza notice it?”

  “Maybe she did and didn’t know it would hurt her.” His face shuttered after that. “I’m talking way too much.”

  “No, you’re not,” I said. “You’re, like, the opposite of talking too much. But this actually makes perfect sense.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s Botox, Ty. I laughed when I heard about it. Imagine what a nineteen-­year-­old boy would do.”

  “Your theory is that some fraternity members snuck into the Delta Beta house and injected Liza McCarthy with so much Botox it killed her.”

  I was quiet for a moment before answering. These were serious charges. I didn’t want to be reckless. “Yes,” I finally said. “They snuck goats into our bathroom, Ty.”

  “Not the same thing.”

  “I didn’t say it was.” My voice had risen a little. I was frustrated that he wasn’t seeing this. “But if they can sneak goats, they can sneak a syringe.”

  “What about Stefanie. Why would that be a prank?

  That was a good question, and I didn’t have an answer to it until Brice Concannon’s voice snaked through my brain. If she did it, then she probably deserves what happens to her. “Oh God,” I gasped softly, and put a hand to my mouth.

  Now Ty looked concerned. “What?”

  I relayed my conversation with Brice to Ty, how I’d gone to him for help with Stefanie’s file, and he’d talked about the uptight police and asked me out instead. Now I had all of Ty’s attention. His eyes blazed, his jaw looked tight enough to snap. I should have just mentioned Brice to him at the beginning. Then he would have taken me seriously.

  “He mentioned roofies?” Ty nearly growled.

  I searched my memory. “I think he said you didn’t like them.”

  “What I don’t like is jerks like Concannon protecting fraternity members who don’t think they need to abide by the law.”

  I was all for Greek unity. But Greeks were Americans and role models besides. We didn’t put our fraternal bonds above our obligations as citizens, and if Brice was taking his brothers’ side when they broke the law, I did not approve. “Will it help if I file a complaint?”

  “For murder?”

  “For assault,” I replied. “Balloons filled with gelatin surely counts as assault and battery.”

  Ty considered that for a second, then shook his head. “Thank you for bringing this information to my attention.”

  “Are you going to investigate? Arrest someone?”

  “Actually, I already have.” At my blank look he continued, “Hunter Curtis.”

  I gasped. Another piece of evidence I hadn’t even considered. “Do you think he was in on it?”

  “I’ll take care of it, Blythe.”

  My stomach dropped like it was on a roller coaster. A possible murderer might have been washing my dishes. “Hunter?”

  “Do you have a response to Dean Xavier’s statement?”

  I saw what he was doing there. Like I wasn’t going to notice a change in the topic of this conversation. But I most definitely had a response. “Bee. Ess.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. That’s my official response. You can write it down. Seriously. It’s so ridiculous, I shouldn’t even have to respond. Like someone like me would want a job in a sociology department.” I shuddered. It wasn’t an affectation. I literally shuddered at the idea of working in a sociology department.

  Ty picked his words carefully, his eyes alert. “But you knew about his … preferences.”

  That was one way of putting it. I really didn’t want to explain how I knew about Dean Xavier’s “preferences.” And not to Ty Hatfield.

  My hands went back on my hips. “Look. He’s not a good guy. There’s no way you should take the word of a pedophile over mine.”

  Ty frowned. “Like, an actual pedophile?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Probably not. But remember, he was dating Stefanie. She was barely of age.” I paused, thinking of Xavier’s strange, nearly frantic demeanor. “Speaking of which, did he even mention her?”

  From the look on Ty’s face, I saw the answer.

  “He came in here to cook up a ridiculous story about me and didn’t even ask about the murder of the student he was sleeping with.” To me, that was awfully damning.

  There was a long pause before Ty looked back at me, spearing me with his blue gaze. “Why would he make up a story about you, Blythe?”

  Now it was my turn to frown. I couldn’t think why Dean Xavier would have it out for me. “I don’t know. You can ask Amanda Cohen about Xavier’s character, though.”

  “The Panhellenic advisor?”

  “And my friend. She was dating Dean Xavier, too. Although I don’t think anyone’s supposed to know about that.”

  Ty raised his eyebrows. “College policy,” I said, but when I did, I realized I wasn’t sure that was it. Amanda had never said why they were keeping their relationship hush-­hush. “And she’s a Delta Beta.”

  “You don’t say,” Ty said in a flat voice.

  “I have lots of friends who aren’t Debs,” I said.

  “Name one.”

  “Casey Kenner.” Technically, that was true. Which was a shame because he would be such a good sister.

  “Is that the guy you were with at the mixer?”

  Something in his voice made me remember the dance we’d shared. There had been something there, I thought. And I felt maybe there still could be if I didn’t keep finding dead bodies and being accused of blackmail.

  Chapter Thirty-­six

  I WAS UPSTAIRS in Asha’s room going over some receipts for a date party when a pledge knocked on the door shyly.

  “There’s someone downstairs who needs to see you.”

  That wasn’t unusual. There was always someone who needed to see me. “It’s the police,” she added. That wasn’t unusual either, I thought glumly.

  Ty and Officer Malouf were waiting in the two-­story foyer with the curving staircase. I descended the staircase as Debs ran up and down and all around. It said something about a chapter when two police officers didn’t even make them blink. I was proud of their composure.

  Finally, I reached them and knew something was up when Ty looked at me with a regretful resolve in his eyes. “You have the right to remain silent.”

  He stepped closer to me and took something shiny out of his back pocket. “Anything you say can and will be used against you.”

  It was unreal, like I was in my own personal episode of Law & Order.

  “You have the right to an attorney or one will be provided to you if you cannot afford an attorney.” He went a bit off script there, I thought vaguely. This wasn’t real; it couldn’t be real. But then the cuffs wrapped around my wrists, and I felt their cool bite.

  I couldn’t understand it. Delta Betas did not get arrested for murder. Speeding tickets, sure. Public intoxication? On rare occasions. Streaking through campus? Only once. But murder? That just didn’t happen.

  But
this was happening. The weight of a hundred eyes was heavy on my shoulders as Ty led me to the cruiser and put me in the back—­on purpose this time. I could only hold my head up and pray that someone up there gave me a Greek judge.

  Ty didn’t speak to me during the drive to the station, or when he walked me in the back door and put me in the holding cell. At least I wasn’t alone. Hunter was in there, too.

  I sat down on the opposite side of the cell from Hunter, staring down at the drain in the middle of the floor, wondering if it was used for what I feared it was used for.

  “What are you in for?” Hunter said, in a tone that was maybe, kind of joking. I flashed my best prison-­mama don’t-­mess-­with-­me look. He shut up after that.

  Time went by very slowly on my Michael Kors watch. Finally, Ty appeared at the bars. There was a deep furrow between his eyebrows. I hadn’t been fingerprinted, or arraigned, or had a mug shot taken. I wasn’t sure in which order these things were supposed to go, and there was a part of me that was dying to know. But there was also a part of me that didn’t want to remind him. If I could just stay here, with Hunter, in the cell, I could pretend that I was accidentally locked up again, that this was all a bad joke.

  The expression on Ty’s face showed it wasn’t a joke. He wrapped his hands around the bars.

  “How bad is it?” I asked. Might as well know.

  Ty flinched. Ouch.

  “You had motive. You heard about the phone-­sex ring and you wanted to keep it quiet.”

  That was true.

  “You had opportunity. You were with Liza McCarthy before and during her death.”

  As were fifty other sisters.

  “The murder weapon was in your apartment.”

  The Botox vial in the medicine cabinet.

  “Is that all?” I tried making a joke about it. Ty didn’t laugh.

  “Murder?” Hunter asked incredulously. I had forgotten he was there so I turned around and gave him a shut-­the-­hell-­up-­before-­I-­shiv-­you-­in-­the-­shower look.