Free Rushing to Die by Lindsay Emory Page B

Holden?”
    â€œShe was in the CIA?”
    â€œShe was dating John Schnaefel, too?”
    I appreciated their abilities to consider all the alternatives, but the truth was staring us in the face.
    â€œLadies, I think she was sent here to spy on the Debs.”
    Aubrey covered her mouth and gasped.
    Zoe’s face showed me that she agreed. “After all, we had considered that possibility.”
    Callie nodded. “Page three of Plan B.”
    â€œDoes that mean someone knows about Plan B?” Aubrey’s perfectly shaped eyebrows drew together in concern.
    â€œNo. It means we’re not alone in considering it,” Callie said pointedly, but also with an implied question. I knew what she wanted to know.
    â€œWe’re going for it.” I said, ignoring the tightening in the pit of my stomach. Plan B was full of potentially illegal, definitely shady maneuvers—­to ensure that Delta Beta rush had every chance of success.
    Callie and Zoe high-­fived each other. Even the most cautious of the group, Aubrey, looked pleased with my call. I wasn’t sure how I felt yet. But as soon as Zoe had identified the Witness XV-­99 glasses at the police station, I knew one thing—­that other chapters were not experiencing scruples about the ethics of strategies like sending undercover sorority women with spy-­glasses to other houses.
    The other possibilities—­that the dead woman was a reporter or a CIA agent—­while possible, were not probable. For one, why would a CIA agent dress in a Delta Beta T-­shirt? A trench coat and thigh-­high stiletto boots seemed much more appropriate.
    And could the dead woman be a reporter for Nick Holden? After meeting with him, I knew that wasn’t possible. Nick Holden was ambitious, thirsty even. If one of his colleagues had died in the midst of gathering information for a story, he would have already organized a candlelight vigil and gone on every morning show vowing to catch the criminal. He would already have his front-­page story instead of padding around Sutton looking for one. But the thought did spark something in my brain.
    Callie, Zoe, and Aubrey knew just what they had to do—­we had decided and rehearsed the next steps several times over winter break. And even though it wasn’t necessary, I again stressed the need to keep Ginnifer Martinelli in the dark. No one could know what we were about to launch. Plan B made D-­day look like a Black Friday shopping trip.
    Over the course of the next few minutes, the girls plotted, then staggered their exits from the shed. They would be giving me regular updates, and we would meet only under the cover of night. Maybe with disguises. I hadn’t decided yet.
    I also hadn’t decided how forthcoming I should be to aid in the murder investigation. Was I going to give Ty Hatfield any of the conclusions that I had come to after learning about the Witness XV-­99 glasses? On the one hand, telling him my suspicions that the dead woman was a sorority spy would very likely confirm his beliefs that I was a little too intense about Delta Beta rush. On the other hand, it could help him identify the body faster, help the woman’s family get closure, help catch a murderer.
    But rush started tomorrow. And telling Ty would bring more scrutiny on the Deb house, attention that we did not need before hundreds of Sutton College freshmen were invited to get dressed up and listen to our chants and clapping.
    Telling Ty might mean he would give the other chapters a heads-­up that we were onto them, erasing any possible advantage we had.
    He was probably looking at the Witness digital card right now, I told myself. There was very likely information on it that would identify the girl. It could even solve the crime in one stroke: Like if she happened to have the glasses on while talking to the murderer, and the murderer said something like, “You better do what I say, or