Poisoned Pins

And then, I told myself as I arose from the bed and again gathered up the cats, I would take the Herodian approach and wash my hands of the entire business.

As I tossed the last stuffed cat into the box, I decided to make a quick search for the animate one, then exit in a more dignified fashion and call Peter from my apartment. If I interrupted anything, I would offer not a single word of apology but would simply relate everything I’d learned over the last few days, efface his name from my mind, and inquire about real estate prices in St. Mary Mead. Caron could join me when she was paroled.

I noticed a stray cat under the desk and picked it up, and had started back to the box when I realized that it might serve a more important purpose than interior decor I examined the cat’s seams for indications that it had undergone surgery on at least one occasion. It had not, but I dragged the box next to the desk and methodically examined all the cats. A particularly pink one with a dumbstruck expression proved to be a pajama bag with a pouch that contained a nightgown, a pair of lacy underpants, and a thin packet of photographs.

Feeling as dumbstruck as the cat feigned to be, I dropped it in the box and opened the flap of the packet. There were four prints and strips of film encased in cellophane sheaths. I swallowed several times, trying to convince myself that I was in no way behaving pruriently, but I finally slipped the packet into my pocket and decided to wait until I was home before I discovered just how depraved Dean Vanderson and the Kappas could be.

I flipped off the light and went into the hallway. Before I could take a step, I heard the front door close with a faint yet discernible click. It was not a welcome sound. I’d allowed Jean’s door to lock behind me, and I knew how long it would take to find the right key and stay inside the room until whoever was in the foyer was gone. Too long.

Trying to convince myself that a campus officer had dropped by to check the house, I waited for him to turn on a light in the foyer. Instead, I saw the sweep of a flashlight at the end of the hallway. “Oh, dear,” I mouthed silently as I crept across the hail and into the bathroom, where no exterior light glinted on the pink tile surfaces.

Earlier I’d scorned the addle-brained gothic heroines who forever put themselves in peril. I’d assured myself I was much too clever to be stalked in a brooding manor house. What a pity I hadn’t listened a little harder, I thought as I strained to hear footsteps in the hallway-or the sound of someone leaving through the front door

Something brushed against my leg. Terrified that I was in the company of a rat or someone’s pet boa constrictor that had escaped in the house, I clamped my hand over my mouth and looked down. The very same cat that had bitten me twice and eluded me all over the house now had decided that my left ankle was its best friend. It slinked and slithered around me, caressing my leg with its tail, then abruptly began to purr like a vacuum cleaner.

“Ssh!” I hissed. If anything, it purred more loudly as it circled my leg. Feline psychology was not my field, and all I could do was stare helplessly at it.

The overhead light came on. No longer in the mood for affection, Katie scampered out the doorway. I was too startled to do anything more than gape at Eleanor Vanderson, who appeared equally u

“Claire?” she said in a shaky voice. “Oh, thank goodness it’s you. I was afraid I was about to encounter-I don’t know. I’m so relieved it’s you.” She came into the bathroom and leaned against a sink, her carefully applied makeup doing little to counteract her paleness. My reflection in the mirror behind her indicated I fared no better; the whiteness of my face above the black shirt gave me the appearance of a character in a freeze-frame from an old movie.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

She turned around, twisted the tap, and splashed a scant handful of water on her face. Glancing at me in the mirror, she said, “I came by to make sure the house was locked, and noticed a light in one of the windows in this wing. I assumed one of the girls had been negligent, but there’ve been so many prowlers and trespassers of late that I thought I’d better check.”

I told her how I’d seen Katie enter the house and gone to the rescue, omitting to elaborate on my subsequent actions. The words echoed off the ceramic surfaces, sounding hollow and even less probable as they faded. “I panicked when I heard the door, and came in here to hide,” I concluded.

“It’s very kind of you to worry about Katie, Claire, but it may have been foolhardy on your part. I’m certain that I saw a light. Someone else may be in the house at this moment.” Shivering, she glanced at the hallway, then tried to give me the standard Kappa smile. “There’s no need to be melodramatic, is there? It’s probably Rebecca or Pippa coming by for something overlooked during her packing, or even Winkie. In fact, she may have come to search for our runaway kitty, had no luck, and left through the back door by the time I came in the front.”

“I didn’t see anyone, but there are a lot of rooms and hallways,” I said truthfully. “I don’t know why I thought I could find the cat in this labyrinth.”

Eleanor had recovered enough to glance at her watch, shake her head, and day, “Well, let’s make sure the light is out, then we can both go home. John promised to call me from his hotel room at eleven, and he’ll be frantic if I’m not there.” She took a key ring from her purse and sailed out of the bathroom, confident that I would accede to her plan.

She hesitated only a second, then zeroed in on the door of Jean Hall’s room and utilized her flashlight to pick out the correct key. “How peculiar7 she said as she turned on the light and frowned at the pyramid of suitcases and boxes. “I thought Winkle had sent the poor girl’s things to her parents. It was only a matter of telephoning one of the moving-van firms and arranging for them to include all this in their next shipment to California. I wonder why she never did.”

I was about to point out that Winkie had been busy when the front door in the foyer opened and the floor creaked as someone crossed the threshold. Eleanor grabbed my arm and yanked me inside the room, closed the door, and switched off the light. Her ear pressed against the door, she whispered, “Someone else is here.”

I sat down on the edge of the bed. “Are you certain that your husband is in Las Vegas?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?”

“I’m afraid his fantasies have some element of reality,” I said carefully. “I spoke to the manager of a motel that’s known to be a place where… adults consent, and he reacted as though he recognized your husband from my description. He also identified some of the Kappa Theta Etas as regular patrons.”

She stopped listening at the door and stood up. Her face was indecipherable in the shadows, but her voice was skeptical and unfriendly. “What exactly are you saying, Claire? I explained about John’s condition, and I thought you understood me. He is not well. Th be candid, he’s physically incapable of doing what you’ve implied, even if there was the slightest reason to consider the possibility. As for the girls, we have strict rules about where they can be seen in public, and they’re aware of the severity of their punishment should they disobey. The only one of them that would set foot in a place like that is Debbie A

“Who set foot in it last week, and stayed there for several nights,” I said. “A second witness saw her get into a green truck and leave yesterday morning.”

“A green truck?” Eleanor sat down beside me, her purse crinkling in protest as she squeezed it. “That dreadful man found in the ritual closet drives a green truck, doesn’t he? I don’t understand any of this. Debbie A