Poisoned Pins

11

I gulped down my drink as I dned myself, scrambled into my clothes, and hurried downstairs and across the lawn to the Kappa Theta Eta house. How could these women-and their neighbors-get any sleep, if they insisted on screaming at every opportunity? As much as I loved my duplex with its view of the campus and convenience to the bookstore, it might be time to move farther away.

I was wondering just how cold the winters were in Fairbanks as I pounded on the front door Winkie jerked it open and gaped at me. “Claire?” she said wonderingly, as if I were dressed in a tutu and clutching a glittery wand. She was the one who warranted a second look, dressed as she was in a naughty scarlet peignoir, with enough makeup on her face to intimidate a seasoned hooker, but very little she or any of the Kappas did these days surprised me.

“Who screamed this time?” I asked.

She pulled me inside and locked the door. “Pippa. She and Rebecca are in my suite, both of them so upset that I felt a glass of wine would serve a medicinal purpose. I even splashed a wee bit in Katie’s saucer.”

She’s splashed more than a wee bit in her own saucer, I decided as I followed her unsteady path across the foyer. The two girls sat on the sofa, both wearing robes. Pippa’s face was pale and her hair disheveled, but she managed to convey a glass to her lips with only a minimum of twitches.

If Rebecca had been in need of a medicinal dose, it had worked miracles. She gave me a sharp look over the rim of her glass, then finished off its contents and said, “So we’ve disturbed you once again, Mrs. Malloy. You must think we’re absolutely crazy, but sometimes literally weeks and weeks go by with nothing more exciting than the discovery of a mouse in the pantry.”

“Would you like a glass of wine?” Winkie asked me with a bright smile. “It’s our little secret weapon to fight off overly active imaginations.”

I wasn’t sure whose she had in mind, mine or Pippa’s. “Thank you, but this is not a social call. In truth, my late-night visits are beginning to irritate me as much as they seem to irritate you. Just tell me why Pippa screamed and I’ll run along home.”

In the ensuing silence, Katie stalked into the room and sprang into Rebecca’s lap, evidently no more pleased to see me than I was to see her She seemed fascinated by the bandage on my hand, and no doubt proud of her handiwork. Winkie wandered into her kitchen, returned with a bottle of wine, and settled cozily in the rocking chain Pippa sniffled. Rebecca gathered her long black hair and curled it around her neck like a scarf.

“Why did you scream?” I snapped at the offender “Did our mysterious prowler reappear, or was it a mouse in the pantry?”

“It was weird, Mrs. Malloy. I was so startled that I didn’t even realize I’d screamed until afterward. I think I must have been repressing my anxiety to the point of psychoneurosis, understandably precipitated by depression over Jean’s death. Had I made more of an effort to explore my innermost-”

“Someone was outside her window,” Rebecca said, stroking Katie with a gesture as languid as her voice. “He stepped on a dry twig and the sound frightened her”

Pippa giggled nervously, if not psychoneurotically. “I’d taken off my bra and was examining my tan lines, so he must have gotten an eyeful.” She looked down with a modest dimple or two. “I’ve been sunbathing in a really cute little bikini. Then tonight, when we were at the mall, I found this absolutely adorable one-piece, my very best shade of pearl gray, but I don’t see how I can wear it with a white stripe across my back.”

I ordered myself to stop grinding my teeth. “I’m sure you’ll find a way. So you were in your bedroom, and someone was outside your window. Did you see his face?” She shook her head. “Has anyone called campus security?”

“Oh, Claire, I don’t think it’s necessary,” Winkie said reproachfully. “What must they think of us? A sorority is only as strong as its reputation, as you well know, and each chapter must endeavor to-”

I was not in the mood for an in-depth analysis of the perils of a dubious reputation. “You need to call Eleanor Vanderson and ask her about notifying the campus security force. If she agrees with you, at the least she can have her husband come over and ascertain that the peeping tom has fled and the screens and doors are secured.”

Winkie frowned at me. “I wouldn’t want to disturb her, and Dean Vanderson is a very busy man with numerous responsibilities. It’s much too late for me to call them.”

“Then I will.” I reached for the telephone. “Tell me the number and we can all go back to bed shortly.” I was surprised when she complied. Seconds later, I was surprised and disappointed when a male answered.

“Is this Dean Vanderson?” I said crisply.

“Yes, it is.” He spoke in an even voice, as opposed to a voice indicative of frantic activity within the last ten minutes. “Who’s this?”

“I’m calling on behalf of the Kappa housemother She needs to speak to Mrs. Vanderson about a situation at the house.” I thrust the receiver into Winkie’s hand and started for the door, then returned and sat down next to Pippa. Speaking softly in order not to interfere with Winkie’s sputtery apologies, I said, “There’s something we need to discuss. This afternoon when you picked up what had fallen out of my purse, you failed to replace my key ring. If you kept it as a souvenir, I’d like you to return it. You’re causing me a great deal of inconvenience.”

“I wouldn’t take your key ring, Mrs. Malloy,” she said, sounding shocked. “That’s stealing. Kappa Theta Eta pledges take a solemn oath to uphold this really involved code of honor so they won’t ever disgrace the organization. We have to promise not to be seen drunk in public, not to cheat, not to get caught in sleazy bars and nightclubs-”

“Or motels,” Rebecca inserted neatly.

Pippa flushed. “Or motels, or anyplace that might make us look like tramps. We always dress for dinner on Monday nights as if it were a dinner party, and-”

“Then you don’t have my key ring?” I said. “Did you see anyone else who might have picked it up?”

She reiterated her ignorance with such earnestness that I was considering believing her when Winkie replaced the receiver and said, “Eleanor agreed that we have no reason to call the campus security department. She and her husband were in bed when you called, and she isn’t willing to ask him to get dressed and come here. She’ll send someone tomorrow to make sure all the screens are set properly and hooked from the inside.”

“What about yours?” I said as I went into her kitchen and pushed back the pink gingham curtains. “It’s barely propped in place, and one tiny nudge will send it to the ground.” I proceeded to prove my hypothesis to be correct. “Oops, sorry; but it was begging for it,” I called. “You really ought to keep the ground-floor windows locked until this prowler is caught.”

Pippa gasped. “My window’s wide open. What if this voyeur is in my room?”

I closed and locked the window before I returned to the living room. “I think we’d better check all the windows on this floor, especially those in unoccupied rooms.”

“Mrs. Malloy has a point, Winkie.” Rebecca held out her hand. “Give me the keys and I’ll go with her You and Pippa can wait here until the drawbridge is raised and the alligators are circling in the moat.”

Winkie seemed a little confused, but she took the keys from her purse and handed them to Rebecca. We went first to the kitchen and made sure the door and windows were locked. We did the same in the lounge, then went to the hallway with the bedrooms.

“My room is a pit,” Rebecca said, although with a noticeable lack of distress. She went inside, stepping over clothes and clutter, locked her window, and returned with an indecipherable smile. “No nocturnal visitors for me, anyway, she said as she unlocked Pippa’s door and gestured for me to precede her.

I’d taken a quick look at all the paper cats taped to her walls. They had messages along the lines of “You’re a great big sister!” and “I got an A on my paper!” The handwriting varied; apparently they served as in-house memos as well as official stationery.

Pippa hadn’t done any housekeeping since I’d last visited. The pearl-gray bathing suit hung from a knob on the dresser books had been added to the mess on the floor, and an open desk drawer filled with oddments reminded me of my own. The blinds were pulled up and the window was open as far as it could go. The screen was hooked, however, and showed no signs of tampering.

We went into Debbie Anne’s room, still neat and clean and sadly impersonal. The only addition was a thin patina of fingerprint powder I picked up the photograph of her parents. “I’m really worried about Debbie Anne. She didn’t sound particularly terrified when she called me, but she may have-”

“She called you?” Rebecca swept her hair back to stare at me. “Why would she call you?”

“She seemed to have found me sympathetic, and she asked me to get in touch with her mother I did, hoping the woman might have some suggestions as to where Debbie Anne is.”

“Did she?”

“Her mother was under the illusion that Debbie Anne was a treasured member of the sorority and spent all her free time with her sisters,” I said with a hint of acerbity.

“She would say something like that, wouldn’t she?” As she made sure the window was locked, she added, “She stole things from us, ran down Jean in the alley, and now is hiding as if she fancies herself to be a maligned victim. I’m not at all surprised to hear she lied to her mother. Let’s finish this up, if you don’t mind. I have an audition in the morning, and I need to study my lines.”

I went to Jean’s door and waited while she unlocked it. The dead girl’s clothes and personal effects had been placed in suitcases and cardboard boxes stacked in the middle of the room. The bed had been stripped, and the pink cats were gone.

“Debbie Anne Wray tried to destroy Kappa Theta Eta,” Rebecca said from the doorway. “We did our best to mold her into one of us, but she couldn’t cut it. I don’t care if they never find her. I hope she’s hiding in the woods, and the bears get to her first.” She backed across the hall and leaned against the wall, her face mottled with anger and her hands curled so tightly that her fingernails might have drawn blood. Turning away, she began to cry.

I decided to ignore her outburst and get out of the place before I lost my temper Even the mildest of mild-mannered booksellers can turn militant if provoked. I went around the cartons, made sure the window was locked, and was on my way out of the room when I noticed a scattering of items that had been left on the dresser, presumably unworthy of being packed. There were bobby pins dusted with powder, an empty pack of menthol cigarettes, plastic pens, paper clips in a chain, and a white cap from a shampoo bottle. And a matchbook from a motel called Hideaway Haven. I slipped it into my pocket. “Who packed up Jean’s things?” I asked Rebecca.

“I offered to do it, but looking at her things was too painful and I just couldn’t go through with it,” she said, trying to stanch the tears that slinked down her cheeks. Unlike most of us, she cried delicately, with no puffiness of her eyelids or redness of her nose. “I think Winkie told the cleaning woman to finish, or maybe she did it herself.”

“Did you find a packet of negatives?” I asked ever so artfully.

My question dried up her tears. “Negatives of what, Mrs. Malloy?” she said. Her hair hid her expression, but the coolness of her tone was unmissable.

“I have no idea,” I said, although the matchbook in my pocket was glowing like an ember and I was beginning to see some possibilities. They were downright nasty ones, too. “Everything’s secure, so you can go study for your audition and I’ll stop by Winkie’s on my way out.”

I’d hoped she might leave me in Jean’s room, but she waited while I turned out the light, closed the door, and joined her in the hall. She went into her room, and rather than snooping through Jean’s possessions, I was reduced to doing as I’d promised. Winkie was asleep in the rocking chair, and Pippa was dangling a pink ribbon for Katie’s amusement. She assured me that she would help Winkie to bed and thanked me for being so concerned.

I wasn’t, but I nodded wearily and went back to my apartment. Earlier, the steamy hot water had been so intoxicating that I was relaxed and anticipating bed. Now, thanks to the Kappa Theta Etas, my mind was sizzling with chaotic thoughts, most of which had to do with blackmail. I wished I could talk to someone, but the someone who came to mind was not an option. This was going to be a solo effort, and not until my solution was tied up with a pretty pink bow would it be presented to the appropriate authorities.

I sat down and looked at the advertising on the matchbook. The Hideaway Haven, a dumpy place west of town that I’d noticed but failed to visit, offered its clientele “adult” movies and king-size waterbeds. I suspected it also offered not only weekly and monthly rates, but an hourly one for those who availed themselves of certain services indigenous to truck stops. What could I do with this concrete bit of evidence-other than light candles and sit around in their glow? Peter kept candles in his dining room, living room, and bedroom, and was forever muttering about my pragmatism when I flipped on a light to avoid stubbing my toes. Officer Pipkin was likely to be able to see more keenly in the dark than a cat.

Admittedly, I was brooding, a useless and deleterious pastime that was beginning to stir up a goodly amount of self-pity. I realized I was in real danger of putting on a Johnny Mathis record and sniveling throughout the night. Physical action, if not exertion, was called for, I decided as I stuck the matchbook in my purse and started through the kitchen to the back staircase that led to my garage. Considering how to pose questions to the night manager about his college clients, I had my hand on the doorknob when it occurred to me that I wasn’t driving anywhere unless I hot-wired my car.

I dropped my purse on the table and began to paw through drawers in search of a spare car key. By the time I found a key that might qualify, it was well after midnight. With a chortle of triumph, I went to bed.

Early the next morning, Caron and Inez dragged in while I was drinking coffee. They both had bloated faces, red-rimmed eyes, and surly expressions, all symptomatic of a sleepless night. Things thudded to the floor in Caron’s room, and I was hastily finishing my coffee as they came into the kitchen.

“I am never leaving this place as long as I live,” Caron announced. “I will stay in my room until my hair turns gray, my teeth fall out, and my skin is overcome with liver spots and hairy, disgusting wafts. Little children will creep cautiously into the yard, whispering and pointing at my window, but at the slightest twitch of my curtain, they’ll scream and run. I shall become a legend in Farberville, but one day everyone will cease speculating and forget about the pathetic old hag who resides in the attic.”

“You said your room,” Inez began, then stopped out of consideration for her continued well-being.

“There is an attic,” I said. “I’ve never been up there, but a couple of summers ago the landlord had someone spray for wasps. There’s a trapdoor in the ceiling of the hall closet.”

“You are not amusing.” Caron lay down on the floor and closed her eyes, her arms crossed in the classic pose of the dearly departed. “Rhonda Maguire is nothing more than a garden tool,” she said in a doomed voice. “I don’t care if I never see her again for fifty years, but she’d better watch out after I’m dead. I’m coming back as a carnivorous zombie.”

I frowned at Inez. “A garden tool?”

She nodded soberly at me, looked at the body attempting to decompose on the kitchen floor, and tiptoed to the nearest chair. She mouthed something at me, but it could have been almost anything, from a malediction to a sonnet.

“A hoe, Mother,” Caron said impatiently. “Are these hot flashes impairing your ability to relate to your current culture?”

“Most definitely.” I swallowed the last of the coffee and stood up. A benign parent would have slipped away soundlessly, or perhaps inquired with such sympathy that she would be regaled with the entirety of the tragedy. “So, how’d the limbo go? Win any prizes, or did Rhonda’s center of gravity prevail?”

“The minute Louis Wilderberry walks onto the patio, Rhonda grabs him and starts telling these really incredible lies about how I claim to be the ultimate fashion dictator of the century, even the millennium. Everybody-Present Company Included-giggles and snickers, and then Rhonda goes, ‘Why don’t we all chip in so Miss Perfect Palette can do a My Beautiful Self analysis of Louis?’ He was so embarrassed that he literally ran back to his car. This was deemed Too Funny for Words, and I heard about it right up until the rooster crowed three times at dawn.”

Inez slid down in her chair until her eyes were on the plane of the table top. “I didn’t say one word, Caron. I thought Rhonda was being really stupid about it, but I still say you went too far when you locked yourself in her room for over an hour.”

“And did what?” I asked as calmly as I could.

Caron squeezed her eyes shut more tightly. “Nothing at all, Mother I am not a vengeful person. If Rhonda calls, tell her I moved to France to live in a chateau.”

I looked at Inez, who shrugged and continued her slithery trip toward the floor. “Whatever you say, dear. I may need you to help out at the store this afternoon. I’ll let you know-”

“You seem to have forgotten that I am never leaving this apartment. Furthermore, I am not answering the telephone, so your anonymous pervert’s going to have to bother someone else. Inez, see if there’s any orange juice in the refrigerator. I already feel my bones turning brittle.”

I left before I could learn what Caron had done in Rhonda’s bedroom, although I knew I’d find out sooner or later The key from the drawer fit the car, and the key from the kitchen counter fit the front door of the Book Depot. If only, I thought as I sat down on my stool, the clues I’d chanced upon fit as well. Arnie and Ed Whitbred had something to do with whatever was taking place, and I had proof of sorts that Dean Vanderson was involved. The active Kappa Theta Etas, the alumnae, the missing one, and even the deceased one qualified for some role in the muddlesome puzzle.

The most expedient plan would be to line up every last one of them and ask the manager of the Hideaway Haven if he’d seen any of them. However, that was a course available only to the authorities, who were not likely to cooperate with me. Neither was John Vanderson, but I called the college switchboard and asked for his office number, then dialed it.

“Dean Vanderson is in a meeting,” a secretary informed me. “Then he has appointments all afternoon, and a reception at five for a federal judge. After that, he’s hosting a dinner party for the judge and some of the faculty. Tomorrow he leaves for a week-long legal symposium in Las Vegas. If you can catch him, say hello for me.”

I waited a moment to see if she’d finished reciting the litany. “This can’t wait for a week,” I said.

“Neither can final approval of the grant proposal that’s due on Friday, nor can the editor of the Law Review, nor can the coed with a sexual harassment charge, nor can the faculty adviser of the judicial committee.” She hung up.

Humph, I thought as I went to the door and gazed at the traffic rattling over the train tracks. It didn’t sound as though I would be able to regain access to Dean Vanderson’s office as easily as I had the night before, not with a Medusa in the front room turning students and visitors alike to stone. Even if I were to risk such a fate, I was leery about running into the unfriendly custodian.

The mock Mrs. Vanderson decided to see what she could wheedle of the legitimate one. I resumed my seat, looked up her number and called it, hoping it was too early for the luncheon circuit to have begun.

“Vanderson residence.”

I was shocked into silence, wildly wondering if my brain had been turned to stone. I gulped, blinked, and finally said, “Debbie Anne? Is that you?”

“No, it isn’t!”

My entire body must have been turned to stone. I was unable to do anything except listen to the dial tone until a series of beeps nudged me into a semblance of consciousness. I numbly redialed the number. After a dozen plaintive rings, I replaced the receiver and considered the five words that she’d said. The twangy nasality of the voice was distinctive, and she had identified the residence. Had I made a mistake that offended the responder so deeply that she’d stalked out of earshot of the telephone? Or out the front door? If it had indeed been Debbie Anne, why had she reacted with abruptness? And what on earth was she doing at the Vandersons’ house?

I jotted down the address, locked the store, and ran to my car, congratulating myself on having driven to the bookstore on the off chance I might need to meet Dean Vanderson in a remote spot. “Just stay there,” I muttered as I pulled onto Thurber Street and headed for Farberville’s historic district.

I’d repeated the plea a hundred times as I crept down Washington Avenue, looking for the house number Enough of the historically correct occupants had numbers affixed to their porches to allow me to home in like a Scud missile and park in front of a well-preserved yellow Victorian house with a turret topped by a brass eagle. It and the lawn surrounding it were immaculate. There were no cars in the driveway.

No more than fifteen minutes had elapsed since the call, I tried to reassure myself as I hurried to the porch and knocked. No skinny girls had been walking on the sidewalks, and I knew she hadn’t driven away in her car. I knocked again, then spotted an old-fashioned doorbell and twisted it vigorously. I could hear it grinding within, pleading for someone to heed its call and answer the door No one did, however, and I finally let my hand drop.

“Are you looking for Eleanor?”

I looked back at a blue-haired woman wearing a raincoat and holding a leash with a gloved hand. At the end of the leash was a cocker spaniel dancing with excitement. “Yes, I am.” I struggled not to look as if I’d been considering breaking into the house with the brick at the edge of the porch. “Do you know when she’ll be back?”

“She’s at her garden club, and then I believe it’s her afternoon at the gift shop at the hospital.” The woman glanced at the brick. “I live next door, and I’ll be happy to let her know you dropped by for a visit.”

“That’s so very kind of you. Actually, I’m looking for one of the Kappa Theta Eta pledges who’s staying here.”

“Eleanor didn’t mention that she and John have a houseguest. Last summer her niece came for two weeks, but she’s an alumna rather than a pledge. A lovely girl, I must say, and very clever She has a degree in business administration, but what with the twins and her fundraising efforts on behalf of the sorority, she’s put her career on hold. Her husband is an orthodontist.”

“Isn’t that interesting,” I murmured mendaciously. I waited, but the woman clearly intended to remain rooted to the sidewalk. Her dog had collapsed at her feet and was licking her shoe, out of either affection or starvation. “So you haven’t noticed a tall, thin girl with brown hair?”

“They’re all tall and thin these days, aren’t they? When I was a gal, we were encouraged to have a few curves, but now they all strive to look like matchsticks.” She yanked on the leash. “Stop that, Brandy. Are you a Kappa Theta Eta, dear? I myself was a Chi Omega; I had so many legacies that I was almost carried through the door and bestowed on a throne on the first day of rush. My granddaughter’s pledging this fall at my very own alma mater.”

She was a formidable opponent. I conceded her the win, smiled vaguely at the dog, and said I’d try to catch Eleanor at another time. She was still standing on the sidewalk as I drove away, more because of the entanglement with the leash than out of suspicion-or so I hoped. I drove past the library and up the hill, gnawing on my fingernail and considering what to do. I knew what I should do, of course. There was no question that I was teetering at the fringe of propriety, of what I could justify even to myself. Peter would listen to me (in between his ever so tedious remarks about my propensity for meddling), and he would be able to question the Vandersons, search the house, and eventually determine if they were harboring a fugitive. I, in contrast, had been stymied by a woman with a dog. A boot-licking cocker spaniel.

Short of storming the garden club to take Eleanor hostage, I was at a loss for ideas. I finally parked in a site popular with moonsick lovers, cut off the engine, and let my head fall back against the seat. Jean Hall had coerced Debbie Anne into doing something-something that related to the boutique at the mall? Why dash away instead of acknowledging the mistake and heading for the proper store? Had Dean Vanderson stashed Debbie Anne in the attic and gone to the sorority house to get the negatives? Negatives of what? It was frightfully irksome that the anonymous caller preferred to deal with Caron, I thought with a sigh.

My next move was obvious, if not pretty.