Rushing to Die by Lindsay Emory Page B

majestic king of the animals snack on a domestic fryer. “There’s a lot of blood.”
    â€œGross.”
    â€œYeah, you should probably dispatch Bob from animal control.”
    The operator chuckled, and said, “Good idea” and I hung up. It wasn’t the greatest revenge, but it was something.
    The group around the window had grown, and we alternatively gasped and laughed at a team of frantic Epsilon Chis sneaking around the backyard to open the gate and let the lion out. We watched, riveted, as, finished with the available prey, the lion noticed the opening and stalked out, headed toward the Tri Mu house. I looked behind me, and the rest of the women in the room all had their heads over their phones, tweeting and texting. I caught Callie’s eye. “Let me guess. Are there chickens behind the Tri Mu house?”
    Callie’s beautiful blue eyes widened in innocence. “What if they’re in their tent?”
    I held up a hand. I didn’t need to know the details. Then, as we watched the emergency vehicles descending on other sorority houses, I realized what time it was and picked up my phone to make yet another call to Sutton emergency ser­vices.
    â€œYou’re late,” growled the answering voice. Ty could be so testy when I didn’t do what I’d agreed to do.
    â€œI guess you haven’t heard. The whole street is on lockdown.”
    â€œWhat did you do?”
    I could honestly answer, “Nothing.” And I resolved to keep it that way all throughout rush week.

 
    Chapter Nine
    T HE D ELTA B ETA chapter awoke bright and early the next morning and caravanned to the Sutton police station. Normally, I would have expected sullen attitudes and furtively muttered curses, but the events of the night before had made everyone superalert. Or maybe they were just terrified of Ginnifer Martinelli, who was marching around the station like she was about to throw a sorority sister or two into a cell. I knew what the cells were like here. They were not homey at all.
    Our most recent pledge class was responsible for picking up breakfast, and they came through the double glass doors bearing a dozen boxes of the finest donuts the town of Sutton had to offer. Yeasty, warm, and sugary, their scent filled the air, and for the first time in days, I was hungry. I helped myself to a glazed and watched Ty Hatfield enter the waiting area, turning nearly every female head in the room. Tall, good-­looking, in a uniform; Ty was pretty easy on the eyes if he wasn’t questioning you in a holding cell.
    He crossed immediately to me and lowered his head. “You brought all of them?” he asked, glancing around the waiting room filled with sorority women. I tried seeing what he saw. Maybe he was intimidated by their beauty, poise, and professionally styled hair at 8 A.M. on a Sunday.
    â€œI wanted to get it all out of the way before rush. Which starts tomorrow,” I added.
    Ty snatched the warm glazed donut out of my hand and speared me with that hard, no-­nonsense, police-­detective look. “I’ve heard.”
    I might not have liked being back in the police station, but that was my donut he had just illegally stolen. I plucked it out of his hand. “So let’s get started.”
    Ty closed his eyes briefly. “I can’t have sixty ­people strolling through the morgue identifying a dead body.” He helped himself to my donut again and took a bite.
    â€œIt’s almost like you’ve never seen one of those,” I muttered.
    â€œCop donut joke. Almost like you’ve never heard one of those.”
    â€œCoals to Newcastle, I guess.” I crossed my arms. Fine. I didn’t want the donut now. It had cop cooties on it. “You could spread photos out on the conference table, and we could enter in groups of ten, to make it easier.”
    He stopped chewing. “That’s a good idea.”
    A semicompliment from Ty