Mean Sisters: A sassy, hilariously funny murder mystery. Lindsay Emory

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       CHAPTER NINE

      Wednesday morning, I got up with a renewed sense of purpose. After dressing and eating a quick breakfast, I headed to the Chapter Advisor’s office and locked the door of the office behind me. It was a rather futile, maybe even immature, action, but somehow I felt the need to lock myself in the Advisor’s office. Hatfield’s visit the night before had given me a lot to think about, on top of the pile of to-do’s I already had.

      The suggestion that Liza McCarthy had been murdered was bad enough. The suggestion that a sorority sister was the murderer was untenable. Ty Hatfield did not understand how sororities worked. Sorority women were a lot of things, but we weren’t murderers.

      When I sat back down to get to work, Ty Hatfield wouldn’t leave my head. As cute as he was, he did seem to be a diligent cop and rather distrustful of women. It was a shame. Women had so much to offer men.

      I focused on organising the office. The first round was clearing all sociology papers from the room. This was fairly easy and in thirty minutes I had a nice pile of books, tests and papers that one of the chapter members could return to the sociology department. As a doctoral candidate, it looked like Liza had taught some classes and the department would probably need these ASAP.

      During the next pass, I focused on collecting the standard Delta Beta materials. The chapter bylaws and the pledge manual went on the bookshelf as I had all that committed to heart. Since I had thoroughly reviewed the monthly reports to HQ, with the GPA’s and membership numbers, I shoved those up there, too.

      Then I was left with the details. I set aside the order forms for the house’s kitchen, intending to temporarily delegate those decisions to the house cook. There were several piles of receipts for various chapter expenses that I placed in a large envelope. I’d have to assume that they were all legitimate expenses and if I later discovered that I needed a receipt, well, I knew I’d find one in a large brown envelope marked ‘receipts.’ I’m fairly organised that way.

      Hatfield had mentioned notes and letters. Sadly, there weren’t many of the latter. I found a few birthday cards that made me want to cry. I took down the pictures of Liza and various chapter members off the bulletin board, in case one of the sisters came in to see me. I didn’t want them to have to look at Liza’s face. Unfortunately, there were tons of notes. Half-scribbled on pieces of paper ripped from some spiral notebook, copies of Panhellenic agendas with her doodles all over them, even napkins with lists of names and numbers. I couldn’t make sense of them, as haphazard as they were. I kept digging until I found notes I did recognise on the official forms of the Delta Beta Standards and Morals office.

      Standards and Morals was the worst part of the job anywhere in the Delta Beta sorority organization, but it was a duty essential to the proper development of young women. Every sorority kept its own standards for membership, some lower than others (cough, Tri Mu, cough) and when sisters failed to live up to those standards, they sat through hearings in front of the standards and morals director, the Chapter President and the Chapter Advisor. Consequences ranged from financial penalties, to work penalties, to the ultimate discipline: yanking a sister’s pin.

      I’d been in attendance for two such hearings as Chapter President and again as S&M director. It was heartbreaking to permanently cancel a sister’s membership, but often it was necessary to maintain the high moral standards of the institution.

      I recognised these forms on Liza’s desk, which detailed the violations of one sister and scheduled a date for her hearing in just three days’ time. It looked like I’d be overseeing another hearing, which was disheartening to say the least. I found a folder for the S&M forms and placed them in a desk drawer. It seemed appropriate, like they deserved their privacy.

      It was when I was placing the folder in the drawer that I found the address book. A plain, black book, it had no markings to indicate whether it was official Delta Beta issue or for personal use. I suspected it was personal, just because it didn’t have a honeybee on it (our sorority symbol), nor a yellow rose (our sorority flower), nor a picture of a topaz (our sorority jewel).

      Remembering what Aubrey and Hatfield had told me about Liza’s family, I got excited when I opened the book, hoping against hope that there was a name or a number of someone who would want to get the news of Liza’s passing. Maybe I would even make the call myself. I imagined the tears, the heartbreak, the jagged voice of a long-lost cousin thanking me for finding them so that they could do the right thing for Liza.

      I flipped open to the ‘A’ page. It was empty. ‘B’ was also empty. ‘C’ was where the entries started. They continued through ‘D’, ‘E’, ‘F’, rows of incomprehensible letters, followed by ten numbers, then followed by either numbers, letters, or a mix. The first set of letters could have been names, maybe. Some of them were pronounceable and some had lots of consonants and no vowels which, unless Liza knew a whole lot of Eastern Europeans, didn’t make much sense. Out of frustration, I flipped to the ‘M’ page, in the vain hope that I’d see an entry like, ‘McCarthy, Long-Lost Cousin Ed.’ But there was just more of the same: two lines with letters, then ten numbers, then a shorter mix of letters. Clearly, this was some sort of secret journal, but it could have been for anything from her investments, to her internet passwords, to her sociology class’s grading system.

      I was staring at the address book when I heard the door lock slide. The door opened and Callie Campbell walked through.

      ‘Oh!’ Callie froze when she saw me. ‘Sorry! I was just …’

      ‘Come in,’ I said, getting up and shoving the pile meant for the sociology department off the chair on the other side of the desk. ‘Sit down,’ I invited her. ‘I’m just cleaning up in here. What can I help you with?’

      Callie quickly sat down, an anxious look on her face. It was obvious she was stressed, poor girl. Who wouldn’t be, under these circumstances?

      When she pushed a strand of long blond hair behind her ear, I could see she was trembling. ‘Callie? Honey, tell me what’s wrong.’

      ‘N-nothing.’ She took a shallow breath then followed with that brilliant smile, bracketed by those adorable dimples. ‘I’m S&M director, you know …’

      ‘Yes,’ I placed my hand on the drawer pull where I had placed the forms earlier. ‘I’ve been reviewing Liza’s papers.’

      ‘Oh?’ Callie’s hazel gaze swept the piles on the desk. ‘‘Cause I came to see … if I could help, or I can just get them, keep them. You know, help you out.’

      What a sweetheart. Putting me first even though she was clearly overcome with the emotions of being in Liza’s office. ‘Callie, I just don’t think that’s appropriate. As Chapter Advisor, I should really keep all the S&M forms. Especially with the subject matter.’

      Callie nodded and pushed her hair behind her ear again. ‘I see.’

      ‘Especially with the hearing in three days.’

      Callie’s eyes widened. ‘Three days?’

      Maybe I had it wrong. I checked my monogrammed calendar. ‘No. Stefanie Grossman. Saturday at two pm.’

      ‘Oh.’ Callie’s shoulders relaxed. ‘Yeah. Stefanie.’

      I made a sympathetic face at the note of defeat in Callie’s voice. ‘I know it’s hard when you have to go through this with a sister.’ СКАЧАТЬ