Poisoned Pins

As I started across the lawn, a silver Mercedes stopped at the curb and the woman I’d seen the day before stepped out of the car and waved at me. “Excuse me,” she called, “but are you Claire Malloy from next door?” She correctly interpreted my grimace and came to the edge of the sidewalk. “I’m Eleanor Vanderson, a Kappa alumna. I serve as the house corps president and local adviser to the chapter I just wanted to thank you for your concern last night.”

As before, she was sleekly and expensively dressed, and if a single gray hair had dared to disrupt her coiffed brown hair, only her hairdresser had been privy to it. She might have been older than fifty, but she had the purposeful look of a woman who went to aerobics classes thrice a week, played golf, and had things tucked and trimmed as needed. Her voice held a trace of a drawl that told me she’d grown up in the southern confines of the state, where country-club candidacies and bridal registrations still dominated the conversations at brunches, luncheons, tailgate parties, and pink teas.

“You’re welcome,” I said, stopping short of snarling.

“Some of these girls… well, in my day it was exceedingly difficult to get into Kappa Theta Eta. If a rushee didn’t have at least one legacy, along with strong recommendations from her hometown alumnae, she was cut at the end of the first day. We never considered a girl who didn’t have a solid grade point from high-school.” Her shrug was graceful, rippling down her arms like honey and ending at fingernails that must have been manicured daily “Now we take almost anyone who shows up at the door, as long as her parents have adequate financial resources. It’s simply not the same.”

“I’m sure it isn’t, Mrs. Vanderson. If you’ll excuse me, I’m expecting a long-distance call.”

“I won’t keep you, Mrs. Malloy, but there’s one thing I need to ask you before you go. Yesterday evening I came by to interview the painter, and he claimed not only that you were a dear friend of his, but also that you’re a politician. I may have misunderstood him, but he swore that you… I believe he said you’re a senator”

It would have taken hours to explain why Arnie was convinced I was a senator, and although I had been less than truthful moments earlier, it was possible that someone somewhere was dialing my number. It was apt to be a con man with a foolproof scheme to make a fortune in federal oil leases, but even he appealed. “You misunderstood, and in any case, I’m a bookseller As much as I’ve enjoyed our conversation, I really must run along now.”

“Then you will vouch for this man’s good character? I ca

“Vouch for Arnie?” I said, startled. “Certainly not. He’s worthless, felonious, unreliable, delusional, and a royal pain in the neck!”

“He seemed so very fond of you,” she murmured, “and spoke of your friendship at length.”

I aimed an unadorned and somewhat gnawed fingernail at her “As I just said, delusional. I don’t care to discuss Arnie further, Mrs. Vanderson. If you decide to hire him, it’s none of my concern. I am expecting a call.”

Relying on this display of indignation to stifle her, I marched to my porch and through the door. All in all, it was quite as good as anything Caron could improvise, and I was congratulating myself when I heard a scream.

I was not torn by indecision-I was ripped to shreds right there in the middle of the staircase. The dilemma lay not between rushing upstairs to call 911 or rushing downstairs to aid Eleanor Vanderson. It lay between continuing upstairs at a leisurely pace to take a bath or returning downstairs to peek cautiously from the porch before I went upstairs to take a bath. Surely the sorority girls and housemother knew the routine by now, I told myself as I teetered on one foot. We’d had a drill less than twenty-four hours ago.

Reminding myself what curiosity had done to a former Katie, I decided to make sure they were handling the matter and went downstairs, feeling as though I were descending into Mr. Dante’s lower rings. The lights were again blazing and figures were darting around in the darkness alongside the house. Jean and Rebecca emerged with Mrs. Vanderson between them. Winkie, Pippa, Debbie A

Perhaps, I thought smugly as I headed for a bubble bath and a new mystery novel, they might take Debbie A

The next morning I staked out the kitchen and waited for Caron to wake up. In that she had not come home until well after I’d given up and gone to bed, she refused to do so and I went to the Book Depot, wishing I knew the details of Mrs. Vanderson’s scream. I was reluctant to call Peter, since I didn’t know if they’d bothered to notify the police. If they had, he might fall for the argument that it happened in the adjoining yard and be cajoled into calling the campus police to ask for a copy of the report. If they hadn’t, he might change the topic to a cabin and a brass bed. I wasn’t in the mood for that.

Therefore I was pleased when Debbie A

I gave her a disarming smile. “Why, Debbie A

“I was there all morning,” she said lugubriously. “I was wondering if I could talk to you, Mrs. Malloy. I know we’re not friends or anything, but sometimes I get the dumb idea that the girls don’t like me very much, and I don’t think Winkle does, either I called my mama last night, but she was mad on account of it being a long-distance call.”

“Last night,” I said, homing in on the phrase much like a malnourished refugee, “I heard a scream and saw Mrs. Vanderson being helped from the dark area between my house and the Kappa house. That’s where you were knocked down, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, although you’re the only person who believes me. Jean and Rebecca were in the same pledge class, and Pippa was the junior representative to the board, so they all kind of hang around together During the academic year, I was pretty good friends with a few of the pledges, but now no one bothers to so much as say good morning. We’re supposed to take turns in the kitchen, according to Winkle. Somehow every night I seem to be cooking and cleaning up afterward, and all by myself.”

I did not want to listen to the complaints of a provincial Cinderella. “You’ll have to stick up for yourself, Debbie A

“Not all that much. She saw a figure in the shadows. Thinking it was a fraternity boy, she marched over to give him a piece of her mind. Whoever it was shoved her down real hard and ran away.”

“And that’s what happened to you the night before?”

“I guess so. I thought the guy was trying to climb in through a window, but Winkle and Jean looked the next morning and they didn’t find any scratches on the windowsill. Jean made a point of telling me there weren’t any footprints in the mud and the shrubs hadn’t been trampled. She made it real clear that she didn’t believe me one bit, that she thought I was acting up to get attention.” Her eyes filled with tears and she began to snuffle in a most unattractive fashion, not unlike an asthmatic bloodhound. “I didn’t make it up, Mrs. Malloy, any more than I did last spring when my mama’s earrings disappeared. There’re a lot of fu