Poisoned Pins

“I didn’t say I would close the bookstore. Caron can handle it for a day or two.”

“Well, she can’t handle this mess I’m into this week- and don’t get any wild ideas about mysterious deaths caused by poisonous South American tree frogs or blunt objects. Things are so slow around here that I’m temporarily on the community relations and crime prevention squad.”

“How exciting,” I said with a yawn. “What crimes are you preventing?”

“The one we’re not preventing is shoplifting. Now that the kids are out of school, they seem dedicated to stealing the contents of the mall, one piece of merchandise at a time. Some of them are happy with a cassette or a pair of sunglasses, but we’re dealing with some slick professionals, too.”

The Kappa Kitten leered at me. “Surely you can get away for one night,” I said, lapsing into a despicable female wheedle. “It doesn’t get dark until after nine, so we don’t have to leave until you’re off duty. We’ll be there in time to sit on the deck and watch the sunset, then broil steaks while the stars come out.”

“Last night you were more concerned with mosquitoes than starlight. I distinctly remember some caustic remarks about the menace of Mother Nature and your unwillingness to risk what was apt to be a saggy bed and a dearth of hot water”

I’d been pretty damn eloquent, too. “I’ve changed my mind, Peter I think we really need to get away, if only for one night, to discuss our relationship.”

“Do you?” he said in an infuriatingly mild voice. “I have to meet with mall security at nine, but I can come by after that to… discuss our relationship.”

The Kappa Kitten licked its lips. “That’s too late. We need to leave for the cabin no later than six o’clock. We can’t discuss anything when Caron might barge in with some new scheme to make her first million. I don’t understand why you can’t tell Jorgeson or somebody to meet with the mall cops.”

“Because I can’t. Listen, if you’re so frantic to go to the cabin, let me call my buddy and see if we can use it this weekend. We can have a couple of lazy, peaceful days to discuss whatever it is that you find so urgent, and Caron won’t have the slightest idea how to find us.”

“Then you refuse to go today?” I asked coolly.

“What’s wrong with this weekend?”

“Nothing at all. I suggest you warn Jorgeson to stock up on bug spray. I’m sure he’ll be great company for you in the brass bed!” I slammed down the receiver, and when it rang seconds later, I grabbed the feather duster and stalked around the counter to attack the classics with serious dedication.

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 wi

“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 A

“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 A

“It’s unfortunate that we’re obliged to take girls who aren’t Kappa material, but it’s based on economics. We ca