Poisoned Pins

“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 begi

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 begi

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 a

“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 so

“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 mille

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.