Mean Sisters: A sassy, hilariously funny murder mystery. Lindsay Emory
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stood up, putting my hands on my hips. ‘Yes, yes, you’ve made your point. Your badge is more important than mine. I still think you have your priorities out of whack.’
Hatfield’s eyes widened before he quickly (and dramatically, I might add) squeezed them shut. ‘I have my priorities out of whack? You put your stupid poems before a police investigation!’
‘A poem? This is way more than a poem! You’re just putting your ego before the proper oversight of young college women who need someone responsible and caring in their lives tonight!’
Blowing out a rough sigh, he reached for the cell door and unlocked it.
‘A rug would be a nice touch,’ I said, as I walked by him.
‘In there?’ he asked. ‘Do you know what people do on that floor?’
I looked at the drain in the middle of the holding cell. Hatfield finally had a decent point.
Safely out of the cell, I turned and looked around the town’s police offices, disappointed by the lack of activity on a Monday night. No detectives were hustling perps out of interview rooms, no skankily dressed undercover cops drank bad coffee out of paper cups. Nope, it was just me and Hatfield, a few desks, some computers and a half-filled water cooler.
It was clear that life as a Sutton police officer was boring as heck. No wonder Hatfield didn’t know what to do with me tonight. I was so outside his comfort zone.
‘Can I make my phone call now?’
Hatfield rolled his eyes. ‘You don’t get a phone call.’
‘I know my rights.’
‘You’re not under arrest.’ He paused, seeming a little uncomfortable. ‘You were accidentally transported here.’
For as long as I can remember, I have never been really, truly speechless. Accidentally transported to a holding cell? Of all the inept, low-rent, unprofessional, amateur-hour moves … I wanted to rail and rip this guy a new one. And remind him again that yes, I knew people and, yes, those people knew people that could maybe, potentially get him fired. But there had been a tragedy tonight and I needed information from Deputy Do-Right.
‘What comes next?’ I asked, ‘For Liza?’
‘Who?’ The exasperation on my face made him self-correct. ‘Oh, Liza. Liza McCarthy. Yes, she’ll be checked out and released to her family.’
‘Checked out?’
‘For cause of death.’
‘I’d like to be there.’
‘For an autopsy?’ Hatfield asked, like no one had ever asked that before.
But that wasn’t what I was asking. ‘No. To talk to her family.’
Hatfield frowned, deeply. ‘Who are you? Are you family?’
In a sense, yes. ‘She’s my sister,’ I said simply. ‘Delta Betas are there for each other.’
Hatfield rubbed a hand over his face like he was super tired. It sounded like he mumbled something like, ‘mother of God,’ but that didn’t really make sense.
I decided to spell it out for him. ‘Look, I know you don’t get it. But like I said, there are a bunch of traumatised young women back at the chapter house. With Liza gone, I’m going to have to take responsibility for the chapter and I’d appreciate you respecting that.’
‘Right,’ he bit out. ‘And I’d appreciate you respecting the legal authority of this police department as we investigate this matter.’
Okay, fine. He had another decent point. I saw where he was going with that. A Delta Beta woman always respected the law. But as Hatfield drove me back to the Deb house, I wondered why he seemed to think there would be an ongoing investigation of Liza McCarthy’s sudden stroke or heart attack.
After a death in the chapter room and a quasi-accidental arrest, my immediate response should have been to call back to Delta Beta headquarters in Atlanta. And I did that. Sort of. I called someone back at HQ, just not my immediate supervisor. Casey Kenner was the Delta Beta Director for public relations and my best friend at HQ.
The hoarse voice that answered told me I may not have called at the best time.
‘Do you know what time it is?’ The growling on the other end of the line was disconcerting.
I looked at my rose gold Michael Kors watch. It had been a present from the UCLA chapter after a particularly difficult semester, grade-wise. I had helped them institute a new study buddy system and regular study hours. After just a semester, the chapter had reached a C average. They had been thrilled. ‘It’s not that late in my time zone.’
‘Girl, we’re in the same time zone. North Carolina and Georgia are practically neighbors.’
Love that Casey. Smart as a whip.
I briefly went over the events of the evening and, like I predicted, Casey was all over it since deaths and arrests were kind of sort of related to public relations. ‘You’ve been there half a day,’ Casey moaned.
‘And isn’t it a good thing I was here!’ I exclaimed hotly, thanking Jesus that I was sent to the right place at the right time. ‘The chapter needs me, now more than ever.’
Casey yawned audibly over the phone. I didn’t have the heart to point out the incredibly bad manners on display at two in the morning.
‘I have to call Mabel. She’ll want an update, too, but I wanted to give you a heads up before things get crazy in the morning.’
‘Thanks.’ The word was a little flat, but like besties always did, Casey came around. ‘Do you need me? Are you okay?’
Once again, for the fifth or five hundredth time that day, my heart nearly burst with love for a true Delta Beta friend. ‘I think I’ll be alright,’ I assured myself as much as my friend. ‘Thank you for asking.’
After I got off the phone with Casey, I called Mabel Donahue, the Vice-President of Collegiate Chapters. She also reminded me of the time, but as soon as I explained what was going on, she forgave me. When I told her I had already called Casey, she said that saved her a step. And then, because Mabel is a true Deb, smart and sharp even in the middle of the night, she asked me – ME! – to take over the Chapter Advisor position at Sutton College on a temporary basis, while the whole mess got sorted out.
It was a huge honour. I was not going to let my sisters down.
*
I couldn’t get to sleep after the conversation with Mabel. I was wide awake with ideas and dreams of where I could take my chapter. I was staying in the guest room on the second floor of the sorority house, which is essentially a supply closet with a spare bed. I didn’t mind; I was used to staying wherever chapters could find room for me. At least I had a door and a place for my suitcase here. I rolled out of the twin bed and pulled on a Sutton College sweatshirt over my nightgown.
Ten years ago, I had pledged this very chapter of Delta Beta. I was eighteen and fresh from my small hometown in the Florida panhandle. Growing up, I had dreamed of going north for college, where campuses were covered in ivy and girls wore flannel and LL Bean boots for necessity’s sake.
I got as far as North Carolina, which was just fine with me. During January of my senior year of high school, I had visited a college in Connecticut. That visit made me rethink the whole ‘northern school’ thing.
Here at Sutton College, I had all the ivy and woods and LL Bean that a Florida girl could dream of, plus a winter that was frosty but not arctic-y. I traced the walls of the hall with my fingertips, in the dim light of emergency bulbs set every few feet into the ceiling.