Rushing to Die (7 page)

 

Chapter Twelve

T
HANKS TO THE
last week of boot-­camp-­like training, the Delta Beta house rose with the dawn, right on schedule—­0800 hours: coffee orders delivered by four angelic sisters; 0900 hours: calisthenics in the chapter room; 1100–1400: hair, makeup, and light lunch. By 1500, we were lined up inside the house in a precise, tight formation. I inspected the troops—­I mean chapter—­from the front door and saw fifty of the finest young women the country had to offer, all dressed in identical JCrew chambray tops tucked into adorable black tartan pencil skirts over black tights and knee-­high boots. Freshly tanned from the visiting spray tan salon last night, the ladies were a plucked, whitened, glossy show of ideal, postadolescent womanhood. They made me proud just looking at them.

At 1520, I checked my Michael Kors watch and synced it with my iPhone. I climbed the entry staircase and got the chapter's attention with the aid of my lucky whistle hung around my neck.

I put a hand over my heart, right where my Delta Beta pin was resting. “Ladies, tonight you will introduce yourselves to a new generation of sorority women. Whether they ultimately pledge our legendary sisterhood, the impression you make will stay with them for a lifetime, invoking their admiration, respect, and fear. Although our chapter has suffered loss and unimaginable pain, you will show not only the Sutton College Greek system, but the world, what Delta Beta women are made of!”

I blew my whistle again. “DO NOT CRY! Think of your mascara!” That brought a giggle out of everyone. I pointed toward the front door of the house. “Tonight, you will meet your new sisters!”

It was a battle cry worthy of
Spartacus
—­the hot, modern version—­and the chapter responded appropriately, with cheers and fist pumps and stomping on the floor.

It was an intoxicating feeling. I almost felt high off the energy pulsing through the house, and it wasn't just the organic herbal No Doz in my system. No, there was a palpable zing running through the air. I'd only felt this way on a few other occasions in my life, right before something magical occurred.

Fifteen minutes later, you could cut the knotted tension with a knife, and when the Panhellenic rush counselor knocked on the door, the chapter let out its collective breath.

It was showtime.

I held my hand up. From my position on the grand stairwell, everyone could see my fingers count down the seconds, three, two, one . . .

The door opened.

The ground shook with fifty determined women stomping the ground in their boot soles, fortified with lead plates. STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMPstompstompstompstompstomp.

“WE'RE FUN WE'RE CUTE WE'RE BACK IN BLACK” The Debs half sang/half screamed their welcome song. The first rushees in line looked terrified. Good. It meant we were intimidating and incredible. They'd never seen anything like a Delta Beta rush.

“YOU'RE FUN YOU'RE CUTE YOU'LL WANNA COME BACK”

Pickups started, like a high-­tech German automotive assembly line. Debs moved forward, greeting the next rushee in line with an enthusiastic smile and a shouted name read from their name tags. It didn't matter that no one could hear over the din of the foyer.

“TO THE BEST HOUSE DEB HOUSE DELTA BETA IS THE BEST HOUSE!”

In seven minutes and six seconds, the front door was closed and all of the rushees accompanied to their designated places. This was the part where bonds were formed, friendships were forged, and lies were fabricated.

There's a lot to a successful rush. There's the glitz, the glamour; logistics and legalities; and the hard sell, the salesmanship. We wanted each and every one of these women, when they returned to Panhellenic that night, to rank Delta Beta as their number one choice. That didn't mean that we were choosing all of them. We had to rank them as well, and sometimes hard decisions had to be made, with impassioned pleas and arguments. Sometimes, this was made easier by the research we'd done before the rushees ever entered the house.

I'm not going to spill all the tricks up the figurative Delta Beta sleeve, but we routinely check [XXXXX] and order [XXXXXX] (redacted to protect Delta Beta trade secrets) before rush, to ensure that anyone we seriously consider offering a bid can comply with our high standards. But, ultimately, rushees made their own cases, providing their transcripts, resumes, and photos to Panhellenic, which helps match them up with sisters who would be a good fit.

For instance, on the southwest corner next to the marble bust of Leticia Baumgardner was McKayla Monroe, a junior biology major. Her hometown was Charleston, and she had been a cheerleader in high school. For this party, she was paired with a girl from Savannah, who had volunteered at a nursing home in high school and was a cheerleader in high school. They should have a lot to talk about; if not, there were conversation prompts that the ladies had memorized.

“How are you liking Sutton College?”

“What was your favorite class last semester?”

“Do you like to go to basketball games?”

All of these topics were thoughtfully worded and vetted through the conversation subcommittee to ensure maximum conversation success. As anyone who has ever been involved in a sorority recruitment process could tell you, it's the conversations that make you fall in love with a house. And their well-­styled hair.

I checked the time on my phone. One minute until bumping. I watched the extra women start to nonchalantly make their way through the crowds, a smile here, a hand on a shoulder there. It looked like they were just mingling, casually strolling through a crowd of a hundred, very cute, very-­pulled-­together collegiate women, where half the ­people were dressed alike.

Five . . . four . . . three . . . two. . . . one. I hit a button on a remote hidden inside my skirt pocket, specifically added for just this accessory. The lights in the house dimmed ever so slightly. Only two or three rushees noticed, blinking for a second, before returning to their fascinating description on how freshman geology totally wasn't what she thought it was. Then there were bumps.

The bumpers politely inserted themselves into conversations as we'd practiced, over and over during the practices. “Hi! [insert name here] I couldn't wait to come talk to you!” With enough sincerity and cheer, the rushee would never notice that all over the room, sisters were introducing themselves in the exact same way. The first sister excused herself and went and found her second station and on and on. Like a Rube Goldberg machine that the mechanical-­engineering nerds insisted on building every nice day in the George Klooney (with a K, not a C, unfortunately) Quad at the student center on campus, the bumping process was both technical and beautiful in its simple, effective choreography.

Delta Betas flowed through the room, going from rushee to rushee with an ease and graciousness that I was sure could not be matched at any other sorority house on Greek Row. I watched it all from the staircase, and when it was time to wind down the party, I dimmed the lights to give a five-­minute warning, then again to give a two-­minute warning. The women who were currently not holding conversations about the basketball record of the Sutton Saints lined up at the door and began to clap and sing.

“WE'RE FUN WE'RE CUTE WE'RE BACK IN BLACK—­”

Soon, all the potential new members had been ushered through the front door, and the chapter as a whole finished singing Monday's signature ditty.

“YOU'RE FUN YOU'RE CUTE YOU'LL WANNA COME BACK—­

TO THE BEST HOUSE THE DEB HOUSE DELTA BETA IS THE BEST HOUSE!”

The front door slammed, and a roar rose, shaking the house to its foundation. We had done it. First party done. Four more to go. In five . . . four . . . three . . .

B
Y NINE O'CLOC
K
that night, the door closed on the final party of the first day of rush. This time when the door closed, the resulting roar probably formed a seismic fault line deep in the crust under North Carolina. The chapter had, quite simply, kicked major ass.

Everything had gone off without a hitch. No emergencies had occurred, no wardrobe malfunctions, no lipstick on teeth, no one had gotten on the floor and pretended to be a cow (there was an incident my junior year—­let's just say certain ­people were locked in their rooms for the rest of the week).

“We did it!” I hooted. I ran down the stairs into the celebrating throng, grabbed several sisters by the neck, and gave them huge bear hugs. I spun around and saw Ginnifer and raised my hand to give her a high five, which she ignored. Denied.

It was as if I heard a giant set of brakes squealing to a halt. “What's wrong?”

The Gineral was not celebrating. Women around me started to notice, alarmed by the steam coming out of her ears.

“THIS!” She smacked a piece of paper into her other palm. “The rush counselor just slid it under the door.”

I reached for it and uncrinkled the single sheet. The message was short and to the point.

Again, it was probably a sign that I needed to get more than forty-­five minutes of sleep that night that I started to laugh hysterically. This got the attention of the rest of the chapter, who hadn't sobered up, watching the Gineral snort fire.

I held up the paper. “LADIES!” I yelled, even though we were all pressed pretty close together in the entry way. “Panhellenic has issued a new regulation in response to recent events on Greek Row!”

Lowering the paper to my face, I read the pronouncement slowly and clearly. “From this point on, all Panhellenic sororities shall NOT employ, dispatch, detour, or otherwise engage live animals during recruitment.”

Another roar rose through the house, this time of laughter. I didn't look at my inner circle, but I did see Ginnifer out of the corner of my eye and wondered why she was taking this so seriously. After all, there was no proof that Delta Beta had anything to do with a baby lion wandering through sorority row. None whatsoever.

 

Chapter Thirteen

A
CHAPTER ADVISOR'S
job is never done, and certainly not on the first day of rush. As the celebrations continued, I quickly changed gears. We had to do this over again tomorrow and the stakes were still high. Many a chapter has gotten overconfident after a successful first day and let its standards slip the next day, resulting in less-­than-­optimal return rates. That was so not going to happen with this chapter.

The doorbell rang with dinner delivery, and there were whoops heard around the first floor—­no one had eaten since Ginnifer doled out bananas and protein bars that morning.

I went to the door to pay for the thin-­crust, no-­cheese, extra-­veggie pizzas (the ladies had rush clothes to fit into; spanx could only do so much). When the pizza delivery boy left the porch, I saw who had been standing behind him.

A curse word escaped me that was inappropriate for a lady, much less a lady who aspired to Delta Beta ideals. I closed the front door behind me. No one needed to see that Lieutenant Ty Hatfield had come to visit our house, not after we were all feeling so good about the day.

I quickly glanced around, to see if anyone was watching us from the shadows. “Come on,” I said, grabbing his arm and leading him straight into the atrium. The space heaters were turned off after the last rushees had left, but it was still warmer than our front porch—­and a whole lot more private. A horrible thought occurred to me. “You didn't drive a police car, did you?”

That was all I needed. A Sutton Police Department squad car parked outside of the Delta Beta house. We'd be dead in the water before we ever got a chance to show off our cute new bikini body.

“An unmarked one,” Ty replied shortly, as if that were some kind of affront. I understood. Driving around in a cool police cruiser with all the lights and sirens must be a big perk of the job. “Here.” He pushed a pizza box toward me that I hadn't noticed, with my concern for keeping him under the cloak of night.

I hadn't thought about food for hours. Now the smell of fresh dough and steamy toppings made my mouth water. I took the box, and the warm cardboard made me weak at the knees.

“For crap's sake . . .” Ty muttered, taking me by the elbow and steering me toward a folding chair. “What are you on?”

I sank into the chair, all of a sudden realizing that my legs hadn't bent at this angle for a very long time. But that was okay. It was called stamina. I was scarily good at standing for days at a time.

A light shone in my eyes. “OW!” I flinched away from the cop and his flashlight. “Are you serious?”

The beam flicked off. “Five-­hour energy, okay?” I said it mainly to avoid another blinding flash.

“Your pupils are huge,” he said as if he didn't believe me.

“Two bottles do that to me.”

Ty looked up at the ceiling of the tent, frustrated at something.

“Did you come down here to yell at me?” I asked, still sounding as energetic as ever even though I was fairly certain this folding chair might be the most comfy thing ever.

“Maybe,” Ty bit out. That was confusing. Even more confusing was when he flipped open the pizza box and told me to eat.

“But that's pepperoni. And sausage. And ham . . .” I protested. Something about the set of his jaw made me stop arguing. And also the smell. And the heat. And the massive rumbling in my stomach. One slice wouldn't hurt, I was sure.

Two bites in, I understood why he was feeding me. He wanted me discombobulated when he sprang the news on me.

“We've identified the body.”

A sick feeling settled in my stomach. It could have been the reintroduction of solid calories; but it was more likely my intuition telling me this was bad, bad news.

“Her name is Shannon Bender.”

The name meant nothing to me. “How did you figure it out?” I asked through a mouthful of hot cheese and assorted Italian meats.

“I assigned a rookie to travel around town with the car keys. The fob worked on a car parked at the Fountain Place Inn. We found enough personal effects to be able to make a positive ID.”

Huh. I guessed my crazy ideas about the car keys hadn't been so crazy. I nodded, then realized that Ty wasn't saying something. I put the half-­eaten slice of pizza back in the box and prepared myself. “Go ahead. I know the worst is still to come.”

Ty's eyes narrowed. “Why do you say that?”

“Please. Shannon Bender was wearing a Delta Beta shirt, but she wasn't a Delta Beta. There's going to be more to this, and I'm sure I'm not going to like it.”

“How did you know she wasn't a Delta Beta at another school?” He was still doing that squinty-­eyed suspicious thing. Well, two of us could pull that off.

“How do you know she wasn't?”

“Now's the time to tell me what you know, Margot.”

I matched his tough-­guy stare. “That goes for both of us.”

He threw up his hands. “I thought we were beyond this.”

“Yeah, me, too. Until another body shows up at my house. Do you know how that affects me?”

Ty raised an eyebrow.

“What I mean is, that puts me in a difficult position. I have to protect my sisters, Ty.”

“Here we go with the sisterhood talk again.”

“I have an affirmative duty—­” I was interrupted by his snort. “I took a vow—­”

“So did I. Tell me what you know.”

“That's a broad question. Ask me something specific.”

“I did.” His teeth ground together. “How did you know that Shannon Bender wasn't a Delta Beta?”

In the grand scheme of things, it was a fair question. But I wasn't sure he was going to like the answer. “I didn't—­well, I wasn't sure. But her shirt . . .”

“Yes?” he prompted.

“It was blue, okay?”

“And?”

“It was blue with pink letters. Delta Beta's official colors are black and gold. I'm not saying that some sister, someplace, doesn't totally disregard our membership manual and wear our letters in other colors, but it's just not likely. So I had a hunch.”

“A hunch.” Ty sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Why didn't you tell me this before?”

I frowned down at the pizza box. “I didn't really think about it.”

“You didn't think about it?”

“I have a lot of things on my mind, right now, okay? And I don't appreciate your insinuation.”

“What am I insinuating.”

“You know.” I was tired of this, back-­and-­forth, he-­said, she-­said game. “Now it's your turn.”

He just lifted his brows. I elaborated. “Your turn to tell me something. That's how this works. I give you information, and you share something. It's the way our relationship works.”

The expression on his face went really weird for a moment. I guess he wasn't used to sharing information with a sorority chapter advisor. But he came around, like I knew he would.

“You were right. Shannon Bender wasn't a Delta Beta.”

I smiled. “That's a relief.”

“She was a member of Mu Mu Mu.”

My smile melted like the extra cheese on the still-­warm pizza in my lap.
Tri Mu.
Suddenly, I was really uncomfortable with where Ty's information was heading.

And then he said the thing I had been dreading for the past two days. “Based on the information we uncovered on the card in the Witness glasses, it seems likely that Shannon Bender was some sort of . . . Panhellenic spy.” He sounded skeptical, like this was something crazy he'd heard about on late-­night TV, along with alien abductions and an essential-­oil-­infused towel that could melt twenty-­five pounds off anyone.

I had to say something, anything that would clear the Delta Betas of suspicion. Because I could see where this was going, clear as day.

“Really.” I kept my voice as neutral as possible. “That's . . . crazy.”

Ty's sigh told me I wasn't totally successful. I picked up the slice of pizza and took a larger-­than-­normal bite.

“MMM . . .”

“You should tell me what you know about this, Margot.”

I pointed to my full mouth. It would be impolite to talk while chewing.

“This is now an official murder investigation. Shannon Bender didn't die of natural causes while wearing a disguise and spy-­glasses in your backyard.”

Well. There went my spontaneous-­head-­explosion theory. As I finished chewing, it seemed that I could only tell Ty the truth and nothing but the truth.

“I don't know anything about it,” I said.

The look on Ty's face said he didn't believe me. Like I would lie. On purpose.

I put my hand up and made a crossing motion over my Delta Beta pin. “I swear on Mary Gerald Callahan's grave. I don't know Shannon Bender. I've never met her. I've never seen her before I saw her in the yard—­” I held up a finger. “And she was already dead, then.”

I could see that he was disappointed. It would be nice, I supposed, if I had all the answers to solve their case for them, as I had practically done before. But as much as I would love to solve all the mysteries in the city of Sutton for my good friends at the police station, I had bigger priorities right now.

I stood up. “If we're done, my chapter needs me inside.” I handed the pizza box back to him. “Thank you so much for the update.”

He accepted the box with a look of resignation. I felt bad for him, I really did. I reached out and patted him on the shoulder and headed toward the tent flap.

“See you tomorrow,” he said. He sounded so glum that his words didn't even register until the next morning.