Bloody hell, my sister's moving in.

I guess I should at least be happy that she won't be living with me again. I've quite gotten used to having the cottage all to myself like a proper adult. But having Lark around—living and working at what had been quickly becoming my favorite hangout, no less—is going to make things more difficult.

For one thing, I'm definitely not introducing her to Clayton for as long as I can drag it out. He may have figured out a way to rule over me, but he's not getting his furry claws into my sister. And while I was going to mention my recent initiation into the Allegheny ranks during one of our upcoming heart-to-hearts, I'm now also going to avoid any talk of the two local packs with Lark, for both of our sakes.

The last thing I need is for her to stick her pretty little nose where it doesn't belong, and knowing her, she'd somehow be knee deep in drama in a hot second.

"Chi Chi Omega Chi. Friends and brothers 'til we die," the sing-songy rhyme echoes across the otherwise silent campus in the darkness.

Having been walking towards home at a brisk pace, I stop and look in the direction I think the chants are coming from. It doesn't take long for me to see the group of around a dozen men rounding the campus lake and continuing their chant as they near.

"Work hard, play hard, we do it right. Omega Chi for life and every night!" Their voices become stronger with each step and I can see their silhouettes fist-pumping the air as they intermittently pass the vintage street lamps.

Greek life during my undergraduate years was never my thing for many reasons, but I must admit that I had secretly been jealous of the deep friendships that could form between those who joined sororities. Of course the best parties were also always at fraternity row so it helped to have a connection to get you in, but I would have never paraded around campus singing a silly rhyme for beer pong and bad DJs.

Taking a 'live and let live' attitude, I'm about to get on my way again when one of the brothers in the back of the pack yells out between verses.

"What's up, President Calhoun? Nice night for a stroll, am I right?" asks the guy in an unmistakeable drunk drawl.

Calhoun. The name immediately pulls my attention toward the lake again and it's just in time to catch the head of the university—and Alpha of the Black River pack—hurrying in the other direction.

I don't hear whether Calhoun acknowledges the greeting nor do I really care. I am, however, intrigued by what he's doing out on campus so late and, more importantly, so alone. A man in his position likely has a busy schedule, but they're either being chauffeured around or surrounded by spouses or assistants. Since Douglas Calhoun appears to have neither on hand, I go into Miss Marple mode and skedaddle after him.

Following Packard's president turns out to be easier than I had thought it would be. There are enough shrubs, statues and just plain old shadows to hide behind as I tail Calhoun in the direction of the administrative building. Like the fraternity brothers, he follows the lakeside path, but in the other direction. And unlike the opposite side where there are still students hanging out and open shops, this area is dark and seemingly deserted.

There is nothing good that can come from anyone lurking around like this, and my suspicions are confirmed when Calhoun disappears among the tall, lakeside vegetation. I follow him to the edge of the bullrushes, using the dry reeds as cover. From here, I can kind of see two figures in the faint moonlight.

". . . get here. I've been waiting for nearly a half hour," says a feminine voice, which sounds familiar, but I can't place it. At least I'm close enough to hear.

"Do you know how hard it is to leave a donor event at a moment's notice?" asks Calhoun, sounding unapologetically irritated at being called out for his tardiness.

"How about I ask the kids making out in the woods to next time report found dead bodies on a schedule that will work for you, sir?" The response is deliciously biting and it also helps me identify its speaker as the policewoman Clayton and I had spoken with earlier.

Her meeting with the head of the university during a criminal investigation isn't unusual, but doing it at this very private location under the cover of darkness sure is. So I continue to strain my ears for more and it doesn't take long for things to get even more interesting.

". . . for me that couldn't wait." I catch the last bit of the president's reply, but instead of an answer from the police captain, there's a pause as she hands him something.

Calhoun takes his time to leaf through what I'm guessing is a wallet before speaking again.

"You're thinking this will give a positive I.D.?" he asks, but the question must be rhetorical or answered with a nod because he quickly continues. "What are you going to do with this information?"

"Absolutely nothing," says the policewoman, taking back the items before chucking the whole bundle as far as she can throw them into the lake. "He's going to be a John Doe, the case will go cold and we'll close it in a few months."

Calhoun sticks his hands in his pockets. "What about fingerprints?" he asks and a chill runs down my spine. He sounds like he's done this before.

"Leave that to me. You just make sure that no one asks any questions that they shouldn't," the captain says and I am almost certain that she's referring to me and Clayton.

The president chuckles. "Now you leave that to me," he says before patting the woman on the shoulder. "Good work, Captain. Keep me updated, but preferably in a more convenient place next time, will you?"

He turns and it's at this moment I realize that I should have backed away already if I didn't want to be caught eavesdropping.

Trying to make as little noise as possible while also quickly getting to safer ground, I nearly run into someone coming down the nearby path.

"Oof. Sorry," I mumble without looking up in an attempt to remain anonymous. But it's too late.

"Barlow Milligan?" asks the woman who I've nearly tackled, recognizing me.

Straightening up, it takes me a second to put a name to the face I had met at, ironically enough, at the President's welcome party during the first week of classes.

"Dr. McRae! Erm, Althea," I correct myself before remembering that the literature professor and I may not have been on a first name basis. But she doesn't seem to mind.

"I thought that was you," she coos. "Not many people with your beautiful silver hair. You have to tell me sometime how you deal with the frizz in this awful, rainy weather."

At this point, I wish I could give her haircare pointers just to avoid any other conversation that is sure to be even more awkward right now, but everything about my hair, for better or worse, is all natural. Even its unusual color is thanks to genetics.

"Absolutely," I say before noticing the folded leash in her hand. "Did you lose your dog or—"

"Oh, no," she interrupts and waves me off. "He's around here somewhere. Leo likes to go and sniff around in other people's business if you know what I mean. But he'll always come when called."

I really hope that I don't know what she means by that pointed statement, especially since I was literally sticking my nose somewhere I shouldn't have been. Which makes me wonder how much of that Althea actually saw.

"That's great. I love nighttime strolls, too," I say in an attempt to explain away my own reasons for being here, in case she hadn't noticed what I was doing before running into each other. "It's so much easier to clear your head and think without people around."

She looks me up and down with a matronly smirk. "Indeed it is. Well, you be safe out here all alone. Lord knows what could be hiding in the shadows."

"Yeah," I mutter in shock at her choice of words before adding a quick farewell and jogging directly home.

I've had some weird days in my life, but this one is definitely up there.