Poisoned Pins

I retreated to the hallway to wait for the paramedics and campus officers to come storming down the stairs to collect a despicable drunk. Ed Whitbred had said Arnie had not come to his apartment since his arrest. How had he gotten from a locked cell to a locked closet?

A low, throaty growl interrupted my futile thoughts. I looked over my shoulder. At the top of the stairs sat Katie the Kappa Kitten, her fuzziness silhouetted by the foyer lights, her amber eyes unblinking as she considered how best to rid the Kappa Theta Eta house of this latest intrusion of vermin.

14

I was sitting in Winkle’s suite when the paramedics and campus cops arrived. Rebecca had dressed and taken charge of the proceedings, which was fine with me. I could hear her cool, decisive voice from the foyer, but I made no effort to follow any of the conversations. A wine bottle and mismatched glasses were on the coffee table, and Katie was clutched in Pippa’s arms.

“I might as well pack my bags,” Winkie said morosely, but with a lack of sincerity that made me wonder if she was less than horrified by the idea-or secretly confident that it would not happen. “This is inexcusable. Men in the chapter room, and that besotted fool in the ritual closet. Eleanor will be on the phone to National in the morning, and I’ll be out on the street by noon.”

Pippa nuzzled the captive cat. “I just don’t understand how that man got in there, unless he…

“Took the key from Jean’s purse,” I said.

Winkie hiccupped, and with a giggle touched her lips with fluttery fingertips. “Which means he and Debbie A

“I think we’d have heard about it,” I said dryly. My wits were dulled by now, but I battled back a yawn and replayed her remarks-hers and Rebecca’s and someone else’s. “It’s possible there are several keys to the chapter room. You have the original. Jean Hall had a duplicate made. But doesn’t Eleanor Vanderson have a complete set of keys?”

“Of course not,” Winkie chided me. “She has keys to all the exterior doors, the bedrooms, and the main-floor storage rooms, but National allows only one key for the basement. Security is vital, quite vital.”

Pippa’s dimples were mere shadows on her pale cheeks, and she spoke with the solemnity of an IRS auditor. “And you’ve got to promise not to ever tell anyone what you saw in there, Mrs. Malloy.”

As if the world’s citizens were panting to know how many folding chairs were in the Kappa Theta Eta chapter room, I thought sourly. I was about to expound on this when a campus cop stepped into the doorway. To my delight, he was middle-aged, paunchy-and unfamiliar.

“We’ve sent the trespasser to the detox unit at the city hospital,” he said. “According to his driver’s license, which was revoked eight years ago, his name’s Arnold Riggles and he’s itinerant. He’ll be interrogated whenever he’s sobered up, and if he remembers anything, he can tell us what he was doing here. Miss Faulkner took a quick look around and said nothing had been disturbed. She claims she doesn’t know how he got there or why. Do any of you ladies have anything to say that can’t wait until the morning?”

We shook our heads, and Katie sneezed her denial. He said the investigation would continue in the morning, stressed the need to make sure the house was secured, and promised frequent passes by patrol cars. After a bit more thumping and muttered comments in the foyer, the front door was slammed and Rebecca joined us.

“Have you put a curse on the Kappa Theta Etas?” she asked me as she poured a glass of wine and curled up at the end of the couch, regarding me with the same meditative glint I’d seen in Katie’s eyes. “Up until last week, nothing much happened. Now, every time I leave the house for an audition or to shop, I find myself wondering if I’ll return to a pile of ashes.”

“Rebecca!” Winkie said. “You of all people-”

“I was joking, Winkle,” Rebecca cut in.

Pippa dumped the cat and stood up. “I’m going to bed. I have a really tough exam in Abnormal Psych in the morning. Good night, all.”

“Would you wait a minute?” Rebecca said to me, then followed Pippa out of the room. Alter a hushed conversation, she returned to the doorway and crossed her arms. “It was awfully clever of you to figure out there was someone in the closet, Mrs. Malloy. Thanks so much for warning us.”

“I’m sure Arnie will be equally grateful if and when he sobers up,” I said.

Pippa reentered and handed me my key ring. With a dutifully apologetic smile, she said, “It was my fault, and I’m really sorry for not finding it the first time. I went back and crawled around and around and around the tree until I found it in a hole. I do hope you’ll forgive me.”

“I do,” I said hastily, and then left before I found myself in possession of a pink paper cat and yet another invitation to di

The door was unlocked and all the lights were blazing away. Caron sat cross-legged on the floor, a calendar spread in front of her. She poised a pencil above it, saying, “Okay, I’ll put Merissa down for Thursday morning, but Ashley can’t do it that afternoon.” She glanced up at Inez, who sat on the couch amid a great flutter of pages torn from a notepad.

“If Tara switches to Saturday,” Inez said with a frown, “then Ashley can have Friday afternoon. But that means we’ll have to juggle the schedule for the rest of the weekend.”

“Hi, girls,” I said cautiously. “Are you pla

Caron crossed out an entry before scowling at me. “We are arranging the schedule for about a dozen My Beautiful Self analyses, Mother It’s very complex, and would be a whole lot easier without interruptions. Look, Inez, some of them may have to change their plans. I Ca

Inez peered at one slip, then another, her face wrinkling with dismay until she resembled a distressed Pekinese. “But if Charlene has to baby-sit all afternoon Friday…

“She can find a substitute!” Caron banged down the pencil and stalked into the kitchen. “You want a soda?”

I considered asking Inez about the sudden demand for Caron’s expertise, but I was afraid I’d hear an answer that would result in indigestion and insomnia. It was well past three o’clock. I went to bed, a pillow over my head to drown out the sporadic outbursts from the boardroom of Caron Malloy, Inc.

The following morning I dallied over the morning paper and several cups of tea, hoping to hear the sound of Ed Whitbred’s motorcycle so that we could discuss Arnie’s unseemly appearance. It was remotely possible that I was hoping-but with less sanguinity-that Lieutenant Rosen might have seen a report of the most current nonsense at the Kappa Theta Eta house and feel motivated to call for details.

When the telephone finally rang, I carefully put down my cup and blotted my lip with a napkin before I picked up the receiver. “Yes?” I responded melodiously.

“Is Caron there?” said an unmelodious and much younger female voice.

“She’s asleep, and I have no idea when she’ll rouse herself. If you like, I can take a message.”