THERE WAS A short knock on the doorframe. Ginnifer spun around and gasped in horror. “Excuse me!” Ginnifer’s voice was shrill. “There are no men allowed in this part of the Deb house.”
I looked around her and had to agree with the horror. Brice Concannon, the fraternity-council advisor, stood there looking as cute and preppy as ever. Too bad he was a misogynist weirdo who didn’t think there was anything wrong with slipping sorority girls roofies, or so he’d told me a few months ago while he was trying to get me to go out with him. To his surprise, my answer was no.
“Margot,” he said with a superwhite smile. “I was hoping I’d catch you.”
“You need to leave,” Ginnifer said. “Or didn’t you hear me?”
“You must not know me. I’m Brice Concannon. I’m with President Desper’s office.”
Ugh. He was so gross. “He’s actually the Interfraternity Council advisor,” I told Ginnifer. “And I’m assuming he’s here on official business?”
“Of course.”
Darn. If he were here on personal business, I’d have happily let Ginnifer employ her Alabama kung fu and throw him out.
“He can stay,” I told Ginnifer. “But leave the door open.”
After Ginnifer left, Brice came in the office without an invitation. I crossed my arms. “What can I help you with?”
“I just came from the president’s office.”
“How exciting for you.”
“We had a special guest.” Brice paused, waiting for me to ask, but he couldn’t help himself from explaining. “Nick Holden. From ITV.”
Crap. I shut the door behind me. This was not what the women inside needed to hear tonight. “What did Nick Holden want?” I asked. One never knew. Maybe the reporter was doing an investigative report on the theater department’s groundbreaking production of Guys and Dolls, starring guys as dolls and dolls as guys. Those theater nerds could really make you think about social issues in a new way.
Brice looked downright regretful. “He’s doing a follow-up, prime-time special. This time, the college is participating.”
My cheeks got hot in the chilly air. “What for?”
“There’s been another death, and during sorority recruitment, too,” Brice responded solemnly. “The college has to take this seriously. The special was already in the works and he was already in town conducting interviews with students and staff. When the president found out about the chick kicking the bucket he invited Nick—and me—in to talk.”
Brice patted my arm. Somehow he’d slid closer to me without my gagging. “Don’t worry, Margot. I’m here for you.”
Ew.
“Am I interrupting something?” Thank God. I jumped back from Brice’s cologne-scented personal space and nearly bumped into Lieutenant Hatfield.
“Brice was just leaving,” I said hurriedly. To Brice, I said, “Police stuff. It’s privileged,” and tried to ignore the amused crinkle of Ty’s eyes when I added that.
“Lieutenant Hatfield,” Brice greeted Ty. “I’ve left five messages for you. President Desper has appointed me again to keep him updated on the police investigation. As a liaison, if you will.” Gah. The man pronounced liaison like he was in a French movie.
“Then I’ll be sure to give you an update when I have one.”
That took the wind out of Brice’s sails. Since he couldn’t force Ty to update him, he focused back on me. “Nick wants to meet you.”
That was not going to happen. “I’m really busy this week,” I said.
“It’s rush week,” Ty added.
I did a double take at Ty. Brice said to me, “He’s interviewing someone named Sheila DeGrasse first—”
“I’ll be there,” I said.
“I’ll send you the details,” Brice said with a smarmy grin, and made his exit, leaving me with a suspicious cop.
“Who’s Nick?”
“Nick is Nick Holden, the former host of Have A Super Day USA. The one who did the special on us.”
Ty looked annoyed. “He misquoted me.”
“He’s awful,” I agreed. “And apparently he’s back and doing another special. Just our luck that someone had to go and die.”
Ty looked troubled; I knew national-media attention on his investigation was a major pain in his rear. So I thought I’d cheer him up.
“You look nice today,” I said. And he did—nice and cozy, wearing a black parka with the Sutton Police Department logo.
“That’s not what the guard dog down the hall said to me.”
It was an easy guess. Ginnifer. “She’s trying to keep us in line.”
“Now why would she think we need a chaperone?”
Something fluttered in my chest. “Not us. I mean, she’s trying to keep the chapter in line.”
Ty scratched below his ear, but it didn’t hide the interested light in his eyes. “Sure it’s not because she’s afraid for your virtue?”
I rolled my eyes. “Please don’t egg her on. She’s doing a great job for Delta Beta.”
“I would never tease an official Delta Beta representative. I’ve learned that one the hard way.”
His delivery was so dry, I didn’t know what to make of the comment, so I decided to let it go. After all, it would be nice if sorority officials finally got the equal treatment we deserve from local law enforcement. It is our civil right not to be discriminated against based on the Greek letters on our chest.
Speaking of which, I pulled back my shoulders and tried to look as professional as I could while dressed in a monogrammed North Face fleece and Lululemon yoga pants. It was T minus two days to rush; I couldn’t be expected to be fashion-blog-worthy at this stage of the game.
But, of course, Ty Hatfield noticed everything. “What happened to your hair, by the way?”
A self-conscious hand went to the side of my head. “Highlights. For rush.” I dropped my hand and changed the subject, second-guessing my new blond streaks all of a sudden. “Is there something we needed to discuss?”
Ty stared at my hair for another half second before shaking his head a little. “We haven’t been able to identify the DOA from yesterday.”
“Why?”
“She didn’t have identification on her. Just a set of car keys and these.” Ty reached into his pocket and withdrew a plastic baggie with a pair of eyeglasses in it.
“Did you get any prints?” I asked, completely familiar with the lingo after being involved in the last two murder investigations involving this sorority house.
“Just hers. And she hasn’t come up in any searches.”
Don’t say it, don’t say it. I prayed and kept my face blank and my mouth zipped. I was not going to make this easy for him.
There was a pause, like he was waiting for me, but I was not walking into this one. “So, if you’re available this afternoon . . .”
“Excuse me?”
“Since it’s Saturday, I thought you could come down to the station and—”
“Oh. Since it’s Saturday, and I obviously don’t have anything better to do, is that what you’re saying?”
“Well, this is a murder investigation, Margot. I’m trying to be respectful here.”
I threw up my hands. “Rush starts in two days! Two days!” I knew I was coming close to making a very unladylike screeching sound, but I was beyond reason. “What do you think I’m doing with my time? Spending a relaxing Saturday afternoon watching Law & Order reruns and Internet shopping?” He opened his mouth, and I held a finger out. “Do NOT answer that.”
“We’re going to need to see if anyone recognizes her.”
“You want to call my chapter members down? Do you have any idea how much needs to be done?” I picked up the four-inch-thick rush binder and let it fall to the desk in a loud smack. “DO YOU?”
“Margot.” Ty’s voice was low and authoritative; and then he was in front of me, taking me by the shoulders. “Breathe.”
But I found that breathing was difficult, and the air I was taking in wasn’t filling my lungs completely.
“You’re shaking. Vibrating.” Ty’s hand went to the back of my head and forced me to look into his eyes. “When was the last time you ate.”
“I had a latte this morning,” I managed to say.
“Okay, but when did you eat last?”
This man had no clue. I didn’t have time for chewing. Or breathing, for that matter.
“You have to take care of yourself,” he said. Ty Hatfield was never going to understand me or my work. I was not here on this planet to take care of me.
“I have a job to do,” I muttered shakily.
He pulled back and studied me. “So do I. Which is why you and the members of this chapter are coming down to the station at four this afternoon to identify the body.”
“But—”
Ty cut off my protest. “I’m compromising, and this is all you’re going to get. You can schedule an hour out of your day so that that girl’s family can know where she is.”
Of course, he was right. Just because I didn’t know this person didn’t mean somebody else didn’t love her and want her at home. Feeling suddenly exhausted and ashamed, I nodded, keeping my face low to hide my embarrassment. Taking an hour out of rush prep wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe we could even bring some work with us; after all, Delta Betas had invented multitasking. It was in our Wikipedia entry.
“What if none of us recognizes her?”
Ty looked grim. “We’ll figure something out.” His grip tightened on the plastic bag in his hand.
“You have car keys,” I pointed out. He didn’t seem to understand what I was saying. “Was there a fob? What kind of car is it?”
“Why?” he asked, a sudden suspicion in his eyes.
I shrugged. “Maybe it’s a stupid idea. It’s not like you could go around town pointing a key chain at every Toyota or Chevrolet to see which car alarm goes off.”
“Do you know what goes into being a cop? You think I have time to go around town clicking at random cars?” He looked down at the plastic bag with the glasses, then back up at me. “I hope one of your girls knows who she is.”
After Ty had gone, I wondered. Was it in the chapter’s best interest to identify this mystery woman? At the thought, a rush of shame washed over me again. In everything I did, I tried to exemplify the standards that our esteemed founders, Leticia Baumgardner and Mary Gerald Callahan, had established for the sisters of Delta Beta. Two days before rush, I just wasn’t sure whether they’d want me to help the police investigate a murder that could totally derail our chapter—or support my sisters in kicking some serious Tri Mu butt.