I wasn’t sure of what I’d articulated but decided not to point that out. We’d reached the Pi Alpha house — a modest, sturdy yellow-brick building near campus. The leaves had been raked recently, and two big earthenware pots of orange geraniums flanked the door. The house blended in quietly with the neighborhood, set apart only by a small brass plate above the doorbell, inscribed with the three letters on Maggie’s pledge pin. When we rang the bell, an attractive young woman in a crisp navy blue suit answered promptly. She wore little makeup, and her dark hair was pulled back in a bun.
“Good afternoon,” she said, looking us over quickly. “May I help you?”
“I hope so.” I showed her my badge. “I’m Lieutenant Walt Johnson, and this is Sergeant Gordon Bolt. Are you a member of Pi Alpha Kappa?”
“I am Bianca Flanders, the president,” she said, and stepped back to let us enter.
She asked us to wait in the hall while she got the vice president. I passed the time by glancing at a bulletin board. There were lots of notices: Monday, 7:00 — talk on investment strategies by a broker; Tuesday, 10:00 — self-defense workshop, required; Thursday, 8:00 — makeup workshop; Saturday — 2:00, health seminar, required.
Bianca Flanders returned with another attractive young woman in a crisp gray suit, wearing very little makeup and her long red hair pulled back in a prim ponytail. Bianca introduced her as Nancy Rogers, and we all sat down stiffly in the sorority’s immaculately neat lounge.
“I have some bad news,” I said, watching them closely, “about Maggie Warren.”
They exchanged a look. “We’ve been worried about her,” Bianca said. “She never came back after our scavenger hunt last night. Is she all right?”
“I’m sorry to tell you this,” I said, “but she’s dead.”
Nancy let out a little gasp. “My God!” she cried, and started sobbing quietly. Bianca walked over to her chair, put an arm around her, and gave her a handkerchief. There were tears in Bianca’s eyes too, but she looked at us steadily.
“That’s horrible, Lieutenant,” she said. “Poor Maggie. How did it happen?”
Their reaction had me stumped. The tears and the gasp seemed genuine, but they weren’t as shocked as you’d expect if this had hit them clear out of the blue. And their outfits, the lounge so neat — it looked like they’d been half expecting the police.
“We’re trying to figure that out,” I said. “Tell me about this scavenger hunt.”
Nancy got her sobs under control, squeezed Bianca’s hand, and gave her a quick, brave little nod. Bianca hugged her briefly, sat down again, and smoothed out her skirt.
“Gladly,” she said, handing me a sheet that had been sitting on the coffee table, right next to a big bowl of blue M&M’s. It was the same Hell Week form Dean Collard showed us. “As you can see, yesterday afternoon we all met at Elaine’s Salon — that’s a tradition, to reward pledges for undergoing the rigors of Hell Week. Then we had dinner at Sushi Gardens, and at 7:00 the scavenger hunt challenges were given out.”
“You see,” Nancy put in, “during the week before Hell Night, the senior members go to stores around town and locate silly, unusual items. We then challenge each pledge to purchase one of those items, but we don’t tell her in which store she can find it. It’s sort of a test of shopping skills. When the pledges find their items, they come back to the house for the initiation ceremony and a little party. No guests — just members.”
Just then, another young woman took a cautious half step into the room. She was heavy and stoop shouldered, with sharply rectangular glasses and a frizzy mass of dull orange hair; she wore baggy lavender jeans, a pea green T-shirt emblazoned with the words “Frodo Forever,” and a faded denim jacket. Nervously, she shifted her battered red book bag from shoulder to shoulder. “Sorry,” she said. “Bianca, everything’s updated. I thought I’d put in a few hours at the lab before dinner. Okay?”
“Fine,” Bianca said, looking slightly flustered. “Thank you, Willie.”
The incident, tiny as it was, threw me off my rhythm. I glanced around, trying to get oriented again, and noticed the bowl of bright blue candies. “Mind if I take a few M&M’s?” I asked, reaching. “You must have a thousand.”
“Only eight hundred.” She looked at the bowl sadly. “But of course — please have some.”
The M&M’s gave me a nice little energy surge. “Now, you said this initiation takes place in the house?” I asked. “Not outside somewhere?”
“It took place right in this room,” Bianca said, “at midnight. Why do you ask?”
I ignored the question. “And you worried when Miss Warren didn’t show up?”
“Yes. The other four pledges came here well before the time for the ceremony. Maggie had last called around eight, to say she’d found her scavenger hunt item—”
“Did she call on her cell phone?” Bolt cut in. “The one we found in her purse?”
Nancy hesitated. “I’d guess she used that cell phone, Sergeant, but it’s not actually hers. She didn’t have one, so I lent her mine so she could keep in touch with us. It was, well, a safety measure, since she’d be out alone at night.”
That sounded sensible. Whenever Kevin’s out after dark, Ellen gives him her cell phone. “Did she say anything else when she called?” I asked.
“Just that she’d come here after running some errands,” Bianca said. “We didn’t really start worrying until midnight. Then we called her roommate, Pamela Andrews.”
“This Pamela Andrews isn’t a member of the sorority?” I asked.
“No. She and Maggie roomed together last year, and this year they took a room in Schuster Hall. Then Maggie decided to pledge. Since she’d already paid for her dorm room through first semester, she planned to move to the house in January. That’s when most pledges move in. Anyway, Pamela wasn’t in, so we left a message.”
“At that point,” Nancy said, “we thought Maggie had probably changed her mind about joining. Then, this morning, Pamela called and said Maggie never came back to the room last night. We then called Maggie’s ex-boyfriend, Fletcher Cantrell, but he hadn’t seen Maggie all week. Next, we called the hospitals. They had nothing to tell us.”
“We also called the police.” Bianca’s face hardened a bit, and her voice grew crisper. “You probably have a record of the call. I asked if there might be any information about Maggie Warren. The desk sergeant asked if I were a member of her family. I said no, and he said in that case he couldn’t tell me anything.”
Well, if they’d been worried enough to make all those calls, no wonder they didn’t seem more shocked when we showed up, especially since the sergeant hadn’t been one hundred percent tactful. Or maybe the calls were part of a scheme to cover up what had happened at the real initiation at Petite Falls. “So according to you,” I said, “all your members were in this house last night. Were the senior members here all evening?”
“That’s right,” Bianca said, with a confused glance at Nancy.
“According to you, all the other pledges showed up well before the time for the ceremony,” I said. “Are there witnesses who can confirm that?”
“I don’t know,” Nancy said. Now it was her turn to shoot a confused glance at Bianca. “We don’t let non-members in the house on Hell Night, except Dean Collard. He stopped by at about ten o’clock; he stops by all the houses on Hell Night. Perhaps the neighbors — but you still haven’t told us how Maggie died. Was it, well, a car accident?”