Poisoned Pins

3

“Welcome to Kappa Theta Eta, Mrs. Malloy,” said the girl who must have been hovering just inside the doorway of the house. I’d seen her the night before, but only briefly before she and the one I now knew as Pippa had retreated. She was a beautiful girl, with waist-length black hair, deep blue eyes, dramatically sculpted cheekbones, and a dusky complexion that hinted of exotic forebears. “I’m Rebecca Faulkner,” she continued in the mellifluous voice of a well-trained singer. “It’s so kind of you to accept our invitation, and I’d love to show you the house.”

“Is Caron here?” I said as I forced myself to step over the threshold of a residence that produced pink paper cats with the efficiency of a factory line.

“She’s in Pippa’s room.” Rebecca took off like a tour guide, and I followed like a tourist plagued with blisters. I admired the foyer and the living room, which were the only rooms in which men were permitted, and then the lounge, the dining room (apparently busboys were a subspecies), the door to the kitchen, and a short hallway lined with closed doors. All of it was decorated in pink, since, as Rebecca told me, their official colors were pink and white. I was not surprised. I subsequently learned that their official flower was a pink rose, their official mascot the beloved Katie the Kappa Kitten, and their official chapter name Delta Delta. Fearing I was on the verge of learning the brand of their official toothpaste, I declined an invitation to explore the two upper floors and asked to speak to Caron.

“But we haven’t been to Winkie’s suite,” Rebecca said, visibly dismayed by my presumptuous intrusion into the itinerary “All guests have to be formally introduced to the housemother. It’s a rule from National. I escort you to her suite and introduce you, then you and she come to the dining room together.” She looked over her shoulder nervously, as if a spy from National might be lurking in a corner, grimly recording this unseemly deviation from procedure. “Then you’ll have a chance to meet Katie, Mrs. Malloy. Don’t you want to meet Katie in person?”

I did not point out the oxymoronic reality that one does not meet an animal in person, nor did I mention my animosity toward the species. It was clear to me by now that there was no hope of winning a battle, or even a minor skirmish, with an organization that dictated the color of the toilet seats.

“By all means, then,” I said, “let’s visit Katie.”

Rebecca led me across the foyer and knocked on a door. “Mrs. Malloy is here, Winkle,” she called, almost reverently.

Winkie opened the door and invited us in. “I’m so pleased you accepted our invitation, Mrs. Malloy. Kappas should be on friendly terms with their neighbors, and the girls should have invited you and your daughter to visit us years ago.”

Her tiny living room was decorated in pink (surprise, surprise), and there was a dusty arrangement of pink silk roses on a coffee table. On the sofa was a long-haired cat; its white fur was the only relief thus far from the relentless pinkness. It gazed at me without interest, and I reciprocated in like.

“May I offer you a glass of wine?” Winkie said in a conspiratorial voice. “Alcohol is forbidden in the house, but since there are so few girls this summer, I decided it might be all right to have a little nip now and then.”

I realized that Rebecca had faded away. “That would be lovely, Mrs. Winklebury.”

“You must call me Winkle. Sit there right by Katie and I’ll get the glasses and the decanter.” She moved out of view, but continued talking. “I do hope you were able to get to sleep last night after that minor bother. Debbie Anne never stops to think what effect her actions may have on others. We had a long talk this afternoon, and I feel confident that she’ll behave more appropriately in the future.”

“Did the police officers catch the prowler?” I asked as I sat down at the opposite end of the sofa from Katie, bleakly suspecting my dark slacks would be covered with cat hair forever after That particular kind of magnetism seems to be the tribulation borne by non-cat fanciers.

Winkle returned with two glasses and a chipped decanter. “Is burgundy all right? I have a little chablis, but it’s old and might not be any good.” She served the wine and settled into a rocking chair, her shoes barely touching the worn pink carpet, her dress smoothed over her knees, her face crimped with pleasure in anticipation of a cozy chat, She reminded me of a child playing in her great-grandmother’s parlor. “Frankly, Claire-if I may call you that?-I doubt there was a prowler The girl has a vivid imagination, to put it kindly, and on other occasions has disrupted the house and caused scenes.”

“That’s what Jean said last night. It’s none of my business, but why was Debbie Anne invited to join the sorority if she’s so disliked?”

“It’s unfortunate that we’re obliged to take girls who aren’t Kappa material, but it’s based on economics. We cannot afford to have vacant beds, much less vacant rooms. The budget’s so tight that we have to fill the pledge class as early in the fall as possible; the alumnae and members spend most of their summer having parties and luncheons for potential pledges. All the girls are required to live in the house for a minimum of six consecutive semesters, and we encourage them to stay here all four years.”

“I’ve noticed most of the other houses are closed for the summer” I said.

“We usually close, too, but our house corps president, Eleanor Vanderson, raised enough money for us to do some much-needed redecorating in preparation for rush and for a visit from the financial adviser from National. She’s coming in August to audit the books, and we dearly hope she can offer some suggestions to improve our situation. When I agreed to be here to supervise the workmen, the girls asked if they could stay. Two of them are taking graduate classes, and the other will be a senior. Debbie Anne’s technically a freshman and I was opposed to having her.” A dark look crossed her face, then vanished as she gave a rueful laugh. “But Eleanor determined that we needed four monthly residence fees to cover the utilities, and Debbie Anne was the only other girl in summer school.”

“Well, good,” I said lamely, not at all interested in the subject or much of anything else, with the exception of surviving the ordeal and achieving the sanctuary of my own sofa. Winkie was swirling the wine in her glass, apparently content to sit in silence for what might be a very long time. To cover the sound of my rumbling stomach, I asked, “How long have you been the housemother?”

“Three years. After the divorce, I worked in an exclusive dress shop for almost ten years, but then my back began to trouble me and I was forced to give up my job. This position rescued me from a very bleak situation. A year from now I’ll be eligible for social security and a nice pension from a fund established by the National Board. I’ll miss the excitement, but it will be a relief to have my own apartment where I can do as I please. Here, I must admit, I’m basically on duty twenty-four hours a day, supervising the kitchen and custodial staffs, handling deliveries, counseling the girls, attending training and social functions for the campus housemothers, and serving as hostess for the house. There are so many restrictions that I sometimes feel as if I have more rules and regulations than the girls.”

“Indeed.” I artlessly looked at my watch and then at the cat, which, like any sensible creature, had gone to sleep during Winkie’s whiny discourse on her job description.

She caught the hint and stood up. “Shall we go to the dining room, Claire?”

I rose with alacrity. “That’s a wonderful idea. I haven’t seen my daughter all afternoon, and while Rebecca was showing me around, she mentioned that Caron was already here and in Pippa’s room.”

“All the girls are staying in the wing off the lounge. It saves on utilities. During the school year, those rooms are used by the house officers, but with just the four…

She stopped to stroke Katie’s head, then led me out to the foyer and paused in front of two portraits of women clutching white cats. The cats had uniformly bulgy eyes, as did one of the women.

“These are the previous housemothers,” she told me. “The chapter was organized eleven years ago by a group of dedicated alumnae. Muffy was the first housemother, and she stayed nearly seven years. She’s out on parole now and dropped by to visit just last month. Pattycake was here only a year before she decided to find other employment. She wasn’t a Kappa, and the girls did not find her sympathetic. Some of the seniors still remember how detached she was when her first Katie was run down by a garbage truck out back. One of them told me, in the strictest confidence, of course, that Pattycake was never pleased when they dropped by to say good night to Katie or leave little gifts of catnip and squeaky toys.”

“Imagine that,” I said, trying not to do so myself as we went through French doors to the dining room.

Pippa, Rebecca, and Jean leaped to their feet as if we’d brandished automatic weapons, their ubiquitous sorority pins sparkling madly on uniformly pink expanses. Caron glanced curiously at them but kept her seat as Winkie formally introduced them to me, escorted me to a chair, and told them to sit back down. The majesty of the moment ended with the shatter of crockery from behind the kitchen door, followed by the dispirited wail of someone who was not Kappa material. Eyes rolled like loose marbles, but no one was motivated to go to the kitchen and investigate the disaster

“I’m so excited that Caron’s my new trainee,” Pippa chirped, dimpling at me. “She’s going to make a swell My Beautiful Self consultant, don’t you think? She’s got such motivation, and you’re going to be astounded at how well she does once she starts working the high school market, where there truly is a need. The school colors are purple and gold, so you can imagine what a challenge it’ll be. But I just know she’s going to stick with it and become one of my top earners.”

“And you do get a cut, don’t you?” I said.

Caron gave me a look meant to wither me into silence. “I’ve already explained that, Mother I’ll get a cut from my trainees, too. It’s like a pyramid, but there’s all this room at the top.”

Unwithered, I said, “Pyramids rise to sharp points.”

“I’m using the color analysis theory as a basis for my senior thesis,” Pippa continued blithely. “I’m a psych major, and I intend to explore the psychological factors that result from someone’s acceptance of her appropriate palette, particularly if that person”-she eyed me critically-”has always worn the wrong shades. It’s funny, but the client seems to go through predictable stages: denial, anger, mourning for the lost colors, and then acceptance and celebration of the new beautiful self. I plan to use this in therapy when I go into private practice.”

Jean laughed. “Mourning for the lost colors?”

“Woe is me,” Rebecca inserted with the same mockery, “no more mauve. However can I go on living?”

Jean and Rebecca grinned at each other. Pippa flushed while she considered her rebuttal, no doubt based on guidelines from National that delineated the amount of violence acceptable in the dining room. Winkie continued to glance at the kitchen door and sigh, and Caron did her best to slither down in her seat and disappear.

I finally tired of the uncomfortable silence and said, “What are you majoring in, Jean?”

“Political history. I’ve been accepted to law school at Yale beginning this fall. I’m taking a course this summer in economics, and working for the dean at the law school here.”

“Mrs. Vanderson’s husband,” added Winkie, having mistaken me for someone who cared. “She helped Jean attain the position.”

Jean gave Rebecca an enigmatic look, then turned to me and said, “In exchange for office duties, I’m allowed to sit in on lectures. Dean Vanderson okayed it with the professors.”

“How kind of him,” I said. “What are you majoring in, Rebecca?”

She swept her hair over her shoulder, checked to ensure she had our profound attention, and said, “Communications, with a focus on theater. I graduated in May, but I want to be in the productions this summer to enhance my résumé, and darling Carlyle promised me at least one leading role. I do hope you and Caron will come see.”

I’d begun to notice that they were all eyeing Caron in a predatory manner, as if they were crows and she an appetizingly steamy mound in the middle of the highway. Little did they know I planned to send her to college on some remote Canadian island near the North Pole, where she would be more likely to join an organization of feral elves than of sorority girls. I managed a polite smile. “We’ll certainly try, Rebecca.”

Debbie Anne came into the dining room with a tray piled with serving bowls, mumbling apologies that only I acknowledged. Half an hour later, I made my escape. Caron refused to accompany me, insisting that she was in the middle of her training session and anything more than the short break for dinner would destroy her concentration. I assured her I would wait up for her so we could discuss certain topics, thanked everyone for the meal, and left before any Kappa hymns could be sung in my honor.

As I started across the lawn, a silver Mercedes stopped at the curb and the woman I’d seen the day before stepped out of the car and waved at me. “Excuse me,” she called, “but are you Claire Malloy from next door?” She correctly interpreted my grimace and came to the edge of the sidewalk. “I’m Eleanor Vanderson, a Kappa alumna. I serve as the house corps president and local adviser to the chapter I just wanted to thank you for your concern last night.”

As before, she was sleekly and expensively dressed, and if a single gray hair had dared to disrupt her coiffed brown hair, only her hairdresser had been privy to it. She might have been older than fifty, but she had the purposeful look of a woman who went to aerobics classes thrice a week, played golf, and had things tucked and trimmed as needed. Her voice held a trace of a drawl that told me she’d grown up in the southern confines of the state, where country-club candidacies and bridal registrations still dominated the conversations at brunches, luncheons, tailgate parties, and pink teas.

“You’re welcome,” I said, stopping short of snarling.

“Some of these girls… well, in my day it was exceedingly difficult to get into Kappa Theta Eta. If a rushee didn’t have at least one legacy, along with strong recommendations from her hometown alumnae, she was cut at the end of the first day. We never considered a girl who didn’t have a solid grade point from high-school.” Her shrug was graceful, rippling down her arms like honey and ending at fingernails that must have been manicured daily “Now we take almost anyone who shows up at the door, as long as her parents have adequate financial resources. It’s simply not the same.”

“I’m sure it isn’t, Mrs. Vanderson. If you’ll excuse me, I’m expecting a long-distance call.”

“I won’t keep you, Mrs. Malloy, but there’s one thing I need to ask you before you go. Yesterday evening I came by to interview the painter, and he claimed not only that you were a dear friend of his, but also that you’re a politician. I may have misunderstood him, but he swore that you… I believe he said you’re a senator”

It would have taken hours to explain why Arnie was convinced I was a senator, and although I had been less than truthful moments earlier, it was possible that someone somewhere was dialing my number. It was apt to be a con man with a foolproof scheme to make a fortune in federal oil leases, but even he appealed. “You misunderstood, and in any case, I’m a bookseller As much as I’ve enjoyed our conversation, I really must run along now.”

“Then you will vouch for this man’s good character? I cannot have anyone in the house who might bother the girls or pilfer the silverware.”

“Vouch for Arnie?” I said, startled. “Certainly not. He’s worthless, felonious, unreliable, delusional, and a royal pain in the neck!”

“He seemed so very fond of you,” she murmured, “and spoke of your friendship at length.”

I aimed an unadorned and somewhat gnawed fingernail at her “As I just said, delusional. I don’t care to discuss Arnie further, Mrs. Vanderson. If you decide to hire him, it’s none of my concern. I am expecting a call.”

Relying on this display of indignation to stifle her, I marched to my porch and through the door. All in all, it was quite as good as anything Caron could improvise, and I was congratulating myself when I heard a scream.

I was not torn by indecision-I was ripped to shreds right there in the middle of the staircase. The dilemma lay not between rushing upstairs to call 911 or rushing downstairs to aid Eleanor Vanderson. It lay between continuing upstairs at a leisurely pace to take a bath or returning downstairs to peek cautiously from the porch before I went upstairs to take a bath. Surely the sorority girls and housemother knew the routine by now, I told myself as I teetered on one foot. We’d had a drill less than twenty-four hours ago.

Reminding myself what curiosity had done to a former Katie, I decided to make sure they were handling the matter and went downstairs, feeling as though I were descending into Mr. Dante’s lower rings. The lights were again blazing and figures were darting around in the darkness alongside the house. Jean and Rebecca emerged with Mrs. Vanderson between them. Winkie, Pippa, Debbie Anne, and Caron came after them, their faces pale.

Perhaps, I thought smugly as I headed for a bubble bath and a new mystery novel, they might take Debbie Anne’s encounter more seriously now that a real, live Kappa alumna had had the same experience. Dismissing the entire business, I proceeded to immerse myself in more ways than one.

The next morning I staked out the kitchen and waited for Caron to wake up. In that she had not come home until well after I’d given up and gone to bed, she refused to do so and I went to the Book Depot, wishing I knew the details of Mrs. Vanderson’s scream. I was reluctant to call Peter, since I didn’t know if they’d bothered to notify the police. If they had, he might fall for the argument that it happened in the adjoining yard and be cajoled into calling the campus police to ask for a copy of the report. If they hadn’t, he might change the topic to a cabin and a brass bed. I wasn’t in the mood for that.

Therefore I was pleased when Debbie Anne trudged into the store, even though the sight of her brought back memories of bad food, a boring and perfunctory conversation during the ingestion of same, and a nearly fatal overdose of pinkness. She was carrying only one textbook this time, and its cover indicated it concerned the psychological development of small children.

I gave her a disarming smile. “Why, Debbie Anne, shouldn’t you be slaving in the library?”

“I was there all morning,” she said lugubriously. “I was wondering if I could talk to you, Mrs. Malloy. I know we’re not friends or anything, but sometimes I get the dumb idea that the girls don’t like me very much, and I don’t think Winkle does, either I called my mama last night, but she was mad on account of it being a long-distance call.”

“Last night,” I said, homing in on the phrase much like a malnourished refugee, “I heard a scream and saw Mrs. Vanderson being helped from the dark area between my house and the Kappa house. That’s where you were knocked down, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, although you’re the only person who believes me. Jean and Rebecca were in the same pledge class, and Pippa was the junior representative to the board, so they all kind of hang around together During the academic year, I was pretty good friends with a few of the pledges, but now no one bothers to so much as say good morning. We’re supposed to take turns in the kitchen, according to Winkle. Somehow every night I seem to be cooking and cleaning up afterward, and all by myself.”

I did not want to listen to the complaints of a provincial Cinderella. “You’ll have to stick up for yourself, Debbie Anne. I can’t oversee the duty roster for you. Now, what happened to Mrs. Vanderson?”

“Not all that much. She saw a figure in the shadows. Thinking it was a fraternity boy, she marched over to give him a piece of her mind. Whoever it was shoved her down real hard and ran away.”

“And that’s what happened to you the night before?”

“I guess so. I thought the guy was trying to climb in through a window, but Winkle and Jean looked the next morning and they didn’t find any scratches on the windowsill. Jean made a point of telling me there weren’t any footprints in the mud and the shrubs hadn’t been trampled. She made it real clear that she didn’t believe me one bit, that she thought I was acting up to get attention.” Her eyes filled with tears and she began to snuffle in a most unattractive fashion, not unlike an asthmatic bloodhound. “I didn’t make it up, Mrs. Malloy, any more than I did last spring when my mama’s earrings disappeared. There’re a lot of funny things that happen at the house, not to mention some of the pledge activities. I don’t think some of them are right. My preacher back home would have a fit if he knew what all I’ve done to try to get initiated into Kappa Theta Eta.”

“Oh, really? I thought hazing was outlawed on this campus after one fraternity boy jumped off the roof and fractured his leg, and another nearly died of alcohol poisoning.”

She stopped snuffling to give me a prissy frown. “We don’t allow alcohol in the house, or smoking, either. Some of the seniors smoke in their rooms, and everybody knows Winkie keeps wine in her refrigerator and a bottle of brandy under her bed. One night when I couldn’t sleep on account of worrying over my midterms, I went down to get a glass of milk and I could have sworn I heard a man’s voice right there in Winkie’s suite. I asked her about it the next morning, and she got real peevish with me and told me I’d better stop imagining things and concern myself with my grades. When I told Jean about it, she just laughed and said the same thing Winkie did.”

I clucked my tongue. “Let’s hope National never hears of this. So, what pledge activities would scandalize your preacher back home?”

“Mostly silly stuff, but sometimes… well, you know, things that sure might…“ She gulped and turned away, but not before I saw the red blotches on her cheeks. “I shouldn’t talk to you about those things. If anyone overheard me, I’d be out on my fanny in no time flat.” She promptly discarded her own advice, and dropped her voice to a husky whisper more suitable for secret agents exchanging bomb recipes. “There was one time when I got so upset I thought I’d throw up, but Jean was real sweet and talked to me half the night. She kept repeating how Kappa Theta Eta meant a lifetime of sisterhood and how I’d better learn to accept their ways if I ever hoped to be initiated. Now I don’t know if I want to be a Kappa or not!”

I took a tissue from the box below the counter and gave it to her “If you’re so miserable, why not quit and live in a dorm?” I said pragmatically, if not sympathetically.

“Mama would skin me alive if I quit,” she said. “I just can’t make her understand that most of the girls make fun of me. Jean’s been real kind about lending me clothes, and Pippa did that color thing for half price, but it didn’t do any good. I don’t dress like them, talk like them, have families like them, or drive fancy cars like them. Everything about me’s wrong, according to them. My hair, my accent, my major-everything!”

She sank to the floor and began to snuffle with increasing vigor, until she was sobbing and I was trying to decide what to do about her. Since there were no customers, she was not likely to discourage sales, but it seemed rather cold-blooded to simply watch her until she subsided and I could shoo her out the door. On the other hand, I had no desire to cuddle her in my arms and make soothing noises while she splattered my shirt with tears, not to mention less desirable fluids. She was a wet creature, I thought, and inclined to dribble on every possible occasion.

I opted for a middling approach. “Come now, Debbie Anne, it can’t be all that bad,” I said consolingly, but from a prudent distance. “Your friends will be back in the fall, and you’ll have raised your grade point so you can be initiated and you’ll feel more like a real Kappa Theta…, whatever.”

She wiped her nose and looked up at me. “I don’t see how I can ever be initiated. I’m too scared to go into the chapter room after what happened at the last meeting.”

“Jean said you’d been inadvertently locked in the room!”

“Inadvertently my foot! Jean asked me in a real sugary voice to put away the candles in the ritual closet, then locked the closet door, turned out the lights, and left. I was there for most of an hour, beating on the door and screaming, but nobody could hear me on account of the chapter room’s in the basement. She locked that door, too, and the one at the top of the stairs.”

“The ritual closet? What exactly is a ritual closet?” I asked, allowing myself to entertain macabre visions of mutilated cat corpses.

The bell tinkled before she could answer, to my regret. It was a customer of sorts, a whiskery, pony-tailed science fiction freak of indeterminate years who resided in a reality that mirrored whatever he was reading. He blinked at Debbie Anne for a minute, then waved a hand at me and shuffled into the netherworld of the racks.

Debbie Anne scrambled to her feet, blotted her nose, and stuffed the wadded tissue in her pocket. “Golly, Mrs. Malloy, we’re not allowed to talk about”-she lowered her voice to a twangy whisper-”the chapter room or the ritual closet. That’s secret Kappa stuff, like our whistle and handshake.”

I was intrigued by the arcanum. “You have a secret whistle? Please, I beg of you, let me hear it. I promise I’ll erase the memory afterward and never so much as exhale in any similar way.”

“I can’t! I’m sorry I bothered you, Mrs. Malloy. I’m desperate for some advice, but I can’t tell you about what goes on at the house. You’re not a Kappa.” Having delivered the ultimate insult, she grabbed her book and fled.

I was disappointed, but I reassured myself that my curiosity might yet be assuaged and turned my attention to this rare and precious commodity-the customer. “Finding anything good?” I called.

He poked his head over the top of the rack. “No, not as of yet. I was gonna buy a copy of Bimbos of the Death Sun to give to this lady I’ve been hanging out with, but you don’t have any. She’s kind of spooked by science fiction fans, and refused to go to the last World Con with me, even though I assured her that no one’s been badly injured in a D &D game for more than a year. It was his fault, anyway, for thinking he ought to challenge a five-hundred-pound Plutonian mercenary with a real sword when-”

“I do have a copy,” I interrupted. I was about to give him specifics when it occurred to me that he might not be in a right-left mode. I joined him in front of the gaudy covers. “I saw it several days ago, right…, in that empty space.”

“So maybe you sold it?” he said.

Recalling sales was unpleasantly easy. “No, I didn’t,” I said with a puzzled frown. “I’m certain I had the one copy and it was there two or three days ago. I’ve sold some romances, a few classics that are on the high school reading list for the fall, a book on building decks, and a cookbook. That’s it for the week. If I didn’t sell it, someone stole it!”

I stomped back to the counter, reached for the telephone, and then lowered my hand, and, I hoped, my blood pressure. It was doubtful the police would rush to the scene of the crime to fingerprint the rack and take photographs of the ominously empty spot. Not for a paperback that cost less than four dollars.

“Wow, what a bummer” my SF freak said as he left. “Wow, what a bummer,” I echoed under my breath as the bell tinkled and the cash register stayed mute. “What a bummer, indeed.”