Mean Sisters: A sassy, hilariously funny murder mystery. Lindsay Emory
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Hatfield’s visit and all the heightened emotions in the house had really put me on edge.
‘What’s in the briefcase?’ I asked, toeing the thing with trepidation. With Casey, one really never knew what he packed on trips. It was one of the things I loved about him. That and his talent at hair.
Casey waved a hand. ‘The reports from HQ, like I said. They sent you like, ten years’ worth of documents.’ He rolled his eyes. Casey was a big picture person, like me. That’s why he was so good at public relations.
‘And Mabel asked me to come down.’
I frowned. I had just talked to Mabel Donahue that morning. Ok, really early that morning.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Do you know the reason why they sent you here, to Sutton?’
I shook my head. It wasn’t that big of a deal. I didn’t always know the reason for a chapter visit. There weren’t always specific reasons. Sometimes a chapter had a specific problem it needed help with, like rush or a problem with the university. But sometimes it was just a well-woman check-up. I was like a gynecologist that way.
Casey’s face was grim. ‘A month ago, they got a call from Liza McCarthy, requesting a meeting in Atlanta at headquarters.’
That was interesting. ‘How did that go?’
Casey shook his head. ‘For some reason, a few days later, she called and canceled. Mabel said she was really upset and talked about quitting the Chapter Advisor position. That’s when Mabel decided that it was time for a Sisterhood Mentor to come and check out the chapter, generally speaking. She thought maybe it had gotten too stressful for some reason, or that there was something that Liza wasn’t telling her.’
‘Mabel didn’t say anything about any of this to me this morning,’ I said.
Casey gave me a look that said he loved me but he thought I was ridiculous. ‘You called her at two in the morning.’
‘Why would I wait until morning to tell her someone died?’ Like that made sense.
Casey ignored my question. ‘She didn’t really remember all this until the police officer called this morning, asking about Liza McCarthy.’
I groaned at the mention of a police officer. ‘Hatfield.’
‘Who?’ Casey asked.
‘The police officer here who doesn’t understand sororities. He’s prejudiced.’
Casey nodded. He understood. People could be intolerant to people like Casey.
I still didn’t understand something. ‘So why did Mabel send you down here? Why didn’t she just call me and tell me all this?’
Casey smiled like something was about to get good. ‘Because right after the po-po called, Mabel got another call from her hairdresser who also does the hair of a Mrs Barbra Kline.’
My face was probably blank as a board. The name didn’t mean anything to me. I didn’t keep up with the sorority gossip scene like Casey did. I was too busy traveling the country and saving the world.
Casey rushed on, dying to get to the good stuff. ‘Mrs Barbra Kline is also known as Mabel’s counterpart at a certain organization we like to call Try Moo.’
Mu Mu Mu. Also known as Tri Mu. Also known as Try Moo. Or simply, the Moos. Also known as Delta Beta’s sister sorority and archenemy. Yes, those two relationships coincide quite well, thank you.
Hearing the Moos’ name sent a shiver all over me. ‘What did the hairdresser say about Mrs Kline?’
‘Mrs Kline told the hairdresser that it was a shame the Sutton chapter of Delta Beta was about to close so soon.’
I sucked in a breath. ‘What? That cow!’
‘I know!’ Casey said, matching my indignation.
My mind reeled with the news. So far, I had seen nothing that would indicate that the Sutton chapter was having any problems serious enough to warrant suspension of chapter activities or expulsion from the campus. So basically, that meant that …
‘Mrs Kline is a big fat liar!’
Casey nodded like that was no big surprise. ‘But Mabel’s nervous that Barbra Kline knows something that she doesn’t. And she’s nervous about Liza’s death after that cop said that it wasn’t natural.’
I tried not to let the worry wrinkles creep onto my face. My insurance wouldn’t cover the Botox. ‘He said pretty much the same thing to me.’
‘You know Mabel,’ Casey pointed out. ‘She’s a little paranoid about the Tri Mus.’
I worked through the implications of all this strange, yet juicy information. ‘She doesn’t think that the Moos put a hit out on Liza, does she?’ I asked, lowering my voice in case the room was bugged. It was almost unbelievable. But these were Tri Mus we were talking about.
My eyes widened as Casey nodded, slowly. I looked around the office again, wondering if it was secure. What did a bug or a mic look like, anyway? I’d have to tear the office apart again to make sure the Tri Mus didn’t have some secret listening device hidden away in here. I picked up a Delta Beta stuffed honeybee off the bookshelf. I hope I didn’t have to rip her apart like they did in the movies. That would be tragic.
‘Is she afraid that my phone’s tapped, too?’ I whispered.
Casey’s grim look was all the answer I needed.
Because Casey couldn’t stay in the sorority house (yes, I know, I said he was as good as a member but he still had a penis and rules are rules), I went with him to the Fountain Place Inn, an historic motel just off campus. I remembered the place well, from my college days. It was where my mom and dad always stayed when they visited me, in separate rooms, sometimes on separate floors. The story was that Mom snored. Or that Dad slept around with every slut on the Florida panhandle. It was one or the other.
Casey checked in and I went up to his room with him, still feeling a little uneasy about the news from Atlanta. Plus, at the Fountain Place, we could talk more openly. I didn’t think the Tri Mus had the wherewithal to bug every room in Sutton.
We laid back on the bed and Casey popped open a flask with the Deb crest on it, mixing drinks with the over-priced sodas from the motel vending machines. I told him everything that had happened in the last thirty-six hours, knowing that he would understand both my heartbreak and my concern for the chapter.
‘Oh!’ I sat up reaching for my phone. ‘We need to get together with Amanda!’ It was too exciting, the thought of my two best friends finally meeting each other. We could go out and hit the Sutton bar scene, which consisted of three establishments lined up on the north side of campus. The town’s forefathers had been pretty strict about that aspect of city planning. I tried calling Amanda three times, but it went to voicemail each time. On the fourth try, I received an automated message that said her voicemail was full. There must have been a Panhellenic emergency to deal with.
When it got too late to go out (we were, after all, in our late twenties), Casey drove me back to the Deb house. I entered the secret door code that was the same code at every Delta Beta sorority house around the country. Our tech guys at HQ said that was a security risk, but tradition was more important than potential intruders.
As Chapter Advisor, it was my duty to check the house and make sure all was well before going up to my room. I wandered through the first floor, picked up a few pieces of trash and stacked a few magazines. It may surprise some to know that college women aren’t always the neatest people. I opened the door to the chapter room, which was still lit softly by the small bulbs in the wooden display cases, accenting just some of the trophies and awards that the house had won in the past seventy years. There were a lot: national awards from HQ, to Panhellenic awards, Sigma Chi Derby Day trophies. Looking at these physical reminders of Delta Beta’s excellence only reinforced my belief that Mrs