Extract: Mean Sisters by Lindsay Emory



Mean Sisters by Lindsay Emory

Hatfield looked stunned. ‘What in the world are you objecting to?’

‘You’re asking about privileged information!’

‘Was a lawyer there? A doctor? A priest?’

Now he was talking crazy. ‘Of course not,’ I said, ‘you’re asking about secret sorority rituals. We can’t share those with anyone who has not been initiated and that includes the police.’

Hatfield lowered his pad and pen and stared at me, like I was some kind of tropical bird he’d never seen before. ‘Who are you again?’

‘Margot Blythe,’ I repeated hotly.

‘Got that,’ he said. ‘I meant, why are you here?’

‘I’m the designated Sisterhood Mentor to the Sutton chapter for the next six weeks in the unfortunate absence of the chapter advisor. It’s my duty, as the representative of Delta Beta Executive Council, to advise these young ladies accordingly.’

His posture and expression remained hostile, like my explanation hadn’t been convincing enough. ‘You can’t object to these questions,’ he ground out.

‘Do you see this badge?’ I asked him, hooking a thumb into my suit lapel, where a small gold pin in the shape of a delta and a beta was prominently displayed. ‘This badge says I can object.’

Hatfield looked resigned. I was relieved that he understood my position and was going to be reasonable. Then he took something out of his pants pocket: a gold shield. ‘Do you see this badge?’

And that was when I was arrested in front of an entire sorority chapter. It was just heartless, in my opinion, to add to the ladies’ grief that way and take away two of their sisters in the same night.



It turned out that I wasn’t officially ‘arrested.’ Hatfield escorted me to his police car with a firm grip on my elbow while I said some not very nice things under my breath that neither Mary Gerald Callahan or Leticia Baumgardner would have thought befitting a Delta Beta lady. Hatfield told me to sit in the back seat and slammed the door, which was really uncalled for.

Did you know that the back seat doors of police cars have kiddy locks on them? Who locks children in the back of a police car? I tried for nearly thirty minutes to get out of the car until the second police officer at the scene, who was both less attractive than Hatfield (unfortunately) and less personable (hard to believe, I know), got in the front seat and drove off, completely ignoring my protests and the not-so-nice things I was yelling in the back seat.

The second police officer’s name tag, which I saw once he let me out of the back of the car and escorted me to the cell, identified him as ‘Malouf.’ The Sutton police station had one large holding cell that was surprisingly grim. I was all alone in the cell, which was just a square, blank room with benches. I passed the time redecorating the cell in my mind until Hatfield reappeared.

I really wanted to be cool and ignore the man, but I also wanted to bust out of here and return to the chapter. I had to put my best Deb face on and charm him out of keeping me locked up.

Hatfield stood at the door silently while I pretended not to notice him. ‘This is really unnecessary,’ I finally said, once I decided that I’m not cut out to be that cool. ‘You probably traumatised those poor girls back there when you hauled me off without probable cause, you know.’

He chewed the inside of his jaw. I couldn’t tell if he was sorry or just embarrassed for what he’d done.

‘Aren’t you going to say anything? Don’t I get a phone call or something?’

When he still didn’t answer, that ticked me off. ‘I know people! You do not want to mess with me!’

Hatfield held up his hands in surrender. ‘Oooh, I’m scared of the official sorority representative.’

I stood up, putting my hands on my hips. ‘Yes, yes, you’ve made your point. Your badge is more important than mine. I still think you have your priorities out of whack.’

Hatfield’s eyes widened before he quickly (and dramatically, I might add) squeezed them shut. ‘I have my priorities out of whack? You put your stupid poems before a police investigation!’

‘A poem? This is way more than a poem! You’re just putting your ego before the proper oversight of young college women who need someone responsible and caring in their lives tonight!’

Blowing out a rough sigh, he reached for the cell door and unlocked it.

‘A rug would be a nice touch,’ I said, as I walked by him.

‘In there?’ he asked. ‘Do you know what people do on that floor?’

I looked at the drain in the middle of the holding cell. Hatfield finally had a decent point.

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Margot Blythe is twenty-something; sharp, friendly and totally incapable of letting go of her college glory days.

When she returns to her old college as an advisor, Margot can’t wait to be reunited with her sorority sisters. But her homecoming reception isn’t exactly what she expected. Tragedy strikes, sending shock waves down sorority row, and Margot is forced to step up – especially when foul play is suspected.

She’s determined to save her fifty frazzled sisters, keep the suspicious (but dangerously cute) police officer at bay and find out the truth – could a sister have committed such an unimaginable sin as murder?

Click to buy your copy of Mean Sisters.


A huge thank you to Helena at Avon. 


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