Joan Hess - Poisoned Pins

Peter earned a decent salary as a lieutenant in the Farberville CID, and there was some family money that kept him expensively dressed right down to his Italian shoes. He’d made it clear that he wanted to get married, and would assume the burden of Caron’s education and my decline into old age (slated to begin within a matter of months). The Book Depot could become my hobby rather than my source of incipient ulcers.

I was musing over the heretofore hidden mercenary aspects of my personality when I heard a terrified scream.

“What was that?” shrieked Caron as we bumped into each other in the hall. Although I was foaming at the mouth, I was still dressed; she’d pulled on her shirt and was fumbling with shorts.

Having envisioned her with blood spurting from a major artery; I slumped against the wall and waited until the gruesome image faded. “It was a scream, and it sounded as if it came from directly below my bedroom window. I looked, but I couldn’t see anybody. We’d better call 911.”

“Yeah, do that.” She veered around me and headed for the living room.

I lunged and managed to catch her shoulder before she could rush into the welcoming arms of the neighborhood ax murderer. “You wait here. I’m going to make the call, and then we’ll try to see something from my window.” I went into the kitchen, but as I picked up the receiver to punch the appropriate digits, I heard the front door open and close. Caron was going to find Her Beautiful Self grounded until school started, I thought, torn between anger and fear.

When the dispatcher answered, I tersely described the situation and was informed that the grounds of the sorority house were in the campus police department’s jurisdiction.

“Can’t you notify them?”

“We’re only allowed to respond to emergencies within our jurisdiction. I can give you the proper number, ma am.

I was back to envisioning Caron drenched in blood, so I eschewed further debate, noted the number, and dialed it with an uncooperative finger. “Someone screamed at the Kappa Theta Eta house,” I announced, then hung up in the middle of a demand for further details, righteously assuring myself I had none. I hurried downstairs and out to the porch. Caron had vanished. The street was dark and still, as was the sidewalk. The ground floor of the sorority house was lit up as if in anticipation of a Shriners’ convention, however so I cut across the adjoining yards, growling Caron’s name with every step, and went to the front door

It was ajar, and from within I heard hiccuppy sobs interspersed with murmurs and silky assurances that “she” was safe. I wasn’t sure if “she” was the screamer or Caron, but it seemed likely that I’d found the origins of the crisis, whatever it was. I went inside and paused in a large reception room with pink flocked wallpaper a parquet floor, a small desk with a telephone and a solitary plastic rose in a bud vase, and innumerable group photographs of young women endowed with more than their fair share of glistening white teeth and moist pink gums.

The voices were coming from a room to the left of a staircase. Unlike Caron, I was not pleased with the opportunity to trespass in the Kappa Theta Eta house, but I continued in the direction of the voices and found myself in a lounge with several groupings of shabby furniture.

The most central one was occupied by a huddle of women-and by Caron Malloy, who was soaking up the potential drama with a facade of sympathy. She looked dismayed by my entrance, but managed to say, “There was a prowler, but he’s gone now.”

I pointed at her. “Go outside and wait for the police. They should be here any-minute, but they won’t know to come in here.” She hesitated, then realized that anything short of prompt obedience would result in a lengthy sentence that precluded a car, a telephone, and everything else near and dear to hen Once she was gone, I approached the occupied sofa and tried to sort out the players. Without a scorecard.

A girl was sprawled in the middle, her face hidden by her hands and her shoulders twitching. The sobbing, although somewhat tempered, was still audible. Three young women surrounded her, all patting her shoulders, stroking her head, and assuring her that she was safe.

A much older woman, dressed in a robe and slippers and carrying a glass of water, came into the room. She halted as she spotted me, her forehead creased harshly and her lips puckered with confusion. “You…, you look familiar, but I can’t quite place you,” she said. “I know I’ve seen you somewhere. I’m so sorry that I don’t remember your name, dear.”

“I’m Claire Malloy. I live next door, so it’s probable you’ve seen me walking by the house. Several minutes ago I heard someone scream. I’ve already called the police. They ought to be here soon.”

“The police?” She gave the glass to one of the girls and came across the room. She was significantly less than five feet tall, with frizzy gray hair and a smooth, pale complexion that belied her age only with a webbing of fine wrinkles around her eyes and the slackness beneath her chin. I would not have been surprised to learn she’d been born somewhere over the rainbow.

She continued, her voice still high and uncertain, “I’m Martha Winklebury, but the girls call me Winkle. I’m the Kappa Theta Eta housemother It’s so very nice to meet you, Mrs. Malloy; you must stop in for iced tea and cookies some afternoon. But as for now, I’m afraid I don’t understand why you called the police. As I’m sure all of us can see, the girl is simply upset.”

“She screamed,” I said evenly. “I’m accustomed to a certain amount of noise from this place, but this went beyond girlish squeals and shrieks. What happened?”

“It’s quite silly. Debbie Anne was coming in from the library and thought she saw a prowler in the shrubbery. I’ve told the girls again and again not to cut through the side yard when it’s dark, but to stay on the sidewalk where there’s plenty of light, even if it means going an extra few feet. Her imagination ran away with her.”

“If it did, it ran into me and knocked me down,” said the accused from the middle of the sofa. Despite her splotchy, tear-streaked face and tremulous voice, I recognized her as the girl who’d tried to peddle used textbooks at my store. She blinked as she realized who I was, but looked down at her tightly clenched hands and let out a groan punctuated with a loud hiccup.

“Couldn’t it have been a fraternity boy?” the housemother asked. “Those dreadful Betas are forever trampling down our grass on their way to the bars on Thurber Street. I’ve complained numerous times to their housemother but she cannot control them. They..”

She dribbled into silence as two uniformed officers came into the room. Neither looked old enough to be a policeman, but they were burly and armed-and therefore exactly what I’d ordered.

“I’m Officer Terrance,” one of them said, “and this is Officer Michaels. What’s going on?”

Despite her shortness that put her at a disadvantage of more than a foot, Winkie managed to peer down her nose at them, although with a slightly cross-eyed effect. “Oh my goodness, men are not allowed in the back of the house. If you’ll come with me to the living room, I’ll explain what happened so you can be on your way.”

“Did you make the call, ma’am?” asked Officer Terrance. His partner seemed to prefer to enjoy the view of nubile young bodies, two of them clad only in skimpy gowns.

“I made the call,” I said, wiggling my fingers, “and the girl on the sofa is the one who screamed.”

“Her name’s Debbie Anne Wray,” Winkie said with a sputtery sigh. “This has been blown entirely out of proportion, but I suppose we d better get it settled so the girls can go on to bed. All four of them are carrying full schedules this summer Come along, Debbie Anne, and do stop that sniveling. Kappas do not snivel.” She went out of the room. Debbie Anne trailed behind her, sniveling more quietly but with no appreciable lessening of drippage from her raw red nose.