Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Vol. 50, No. 1 & 2, January/February 2005

Not a theater major after all — pre-law, no question. I felt plenty intimidated, let me tell you, but stuck to my guns. “Not so fast. We want to talk to the other pledges.”

“Not today,” Bianca said decisively. “They’re at the South Street Food Pantry, preparing dinner for the homeless. If you wish to speak to them, you may do so in our attorney’s office tomorrow. Please call if you’d like to schedule an appointment.”

That settled it. I didn’t want some newspaper to get wind of us hassling college girls busily feeding the homeless. So we headed for Schuster Hall to talk to Maggie’s roommate. As we walked, I thought about how neat those girls keep their house and lawn. When I was in uniform, I’d gone to other sorority houses to break up loud parties. Those places had been awful — rotting garbage, spilled beer, little pools of vomit underfoot, and nobody seemed to care. “These girls are more careful than most,” I commented. “Some of those others — messed up and rank.”

Bolt nodded. “Yes, many people do get messed up on rank. Dean Collard, for example, called us both Officer, without regard to our actual ranks. But those girls always called you Lieutenant and me Sergeant. As you say, they’re more careful than most, and they told a careful story. No uncertainty about details, no fumbling for words — when one finished a sentence, the other picked up the narrative without hesitation.”

He was right. Their story had

seemed smooth, almost rehearsed. That’d make sense if they were trying to cover something up: they’d worked their lies out in advance to make sure we’d buy their story. “They were really determined to sell it,” I commented.

“Cell it?” Bolt repeated eagerly. “Is that a slang expression for making a call on a cellular telephone? Yes, they did seem determined to cell it. Thinking a twenty-one-year-old woman needs to borrow a cell phone when she goes out at seven — that seems over-cautious if, as Miss Rogers said, it was intended as a safety measure. Good point, sir.”

Damn, I thought. That is a good point. I only wish I’d noticed it. It’s one thing for Ellen to make Kevin carry a cell phone after dark: he’s in middle school. But it was odd that Nancy didn’t want Maggie to go shopping without a cell phone. I can be awful slow about stuff like that. But Bolt’s never slow about anything.

“Pretty quick, Bolt,” I said, shaking my head in admiration.

He gasped. “You’re right, sir! Supposedly, Miss Warren was given her scavenger hunt challenge at seven. And the receipt indicates she made her purchase at seven twenty-seven. That is pretty quick shopping, since it takes at least twenty minutes to walk from Sushi Gardens to Dollar Delights. So Miss Warren could hardly have been combing store after store in search of a Donny Osmond lint brush.”

Did that mean they’d lied about the times? But why? My head was spinning so bad that it was a relief to reach Schuster Hall and stop the questions and revelations.

Pamela Andrews has a circular pink sign on her door, divided into wedges, with each wedge labeled IN CLASS, AT THE LIBRARY, SHOPPING TILL I DROP — like that. The wedge labeled AT HOME — JUST KNOCK had a big purple thumbtack stuck into it. So we knocked; she opened the door immediately. She’s a little on the plain side, more than a little on the plump side. She was nicely dressed in khaki pants, a high-necked black cashmere sweater, and a string of pearls that looked real.

“Are you the police?” she asked. “Dean Collard called me about Maggie, and he said you might come by. Do you want to sit down?”

We sat in the thinly cushioned swivel chairs that evidently went with two narrow desks made from lacquered boards riveted to the wall. Pamela offered us Tang and crackers, and I was glad to accept — by now, I was really missing lunch.

She didn’t have much to say about last night. Maggie left the room yesterday afternoon, Pamela said, and came back looking great after her hairstyling and manicure, carrying a camelhair coat, black heels, and some clothes in a garment bag. No, Pamela didn’t think the things were new — she didn’t see any tags, so they must’ve been borrowed. Maggie fussed over her makeup for half an hour before heading for Sushi Gardens. Pamela ate dinner in the cafeteria, then went to the library to work on a term paper.