The Good Girl's Guide to Murder: A Debutante Dropout Mystery

by McBride, Susan

  “He went out for some air . . .”

  “Oh, yes, for some air. The same excuse he used for disappearing during the fire, hmm? Either he’s sufferin’ from a severe lack of oxygen, or he feels guilty about somethin’, and you know I’m right. Did you see how reluctant he was to admit which herbs he’d given that poor girl? Then he blames it all on Kendall. If she’d died, no one would’ve been the wiser. Those are Dr. Taylor’s words, not mine.”

  “Well, he could’ve denied it altogether.”

  “Are you defendin’ the boy?”

  Malone cleared his throat. “What a minute, ladies. Are you seriously suggesting that there was an attempt to commit an actual crime?”

  “Yes,” Mother said in duet with my, “No.”

  Brian’s gaze swung from Cissy to me. “Well, which is it? Because if you think that what happened to Kendall involved foul play, we should call the police.”

  “Yes,” Mother said again, more loudly, nearly drowning out my, “No.”

  “Stop it.” I scowled at her, stamping my foot, before I faced Brian. “Look, even if Justin gave her a big enough dose of ma huang to make her sick, there’s no proof it was an intentional act. And I mean, not even a molecule. If the champagne was spiked, which is what Miss Marple here thinks happened”—I jerked my chin toward Mother—“any evidence was destroyed in the fire. Kendall’s glass broke when she dropped it, and Amber shattered the bottle of 1973 Dom when she went after Marilee.”

  “Wait a minute.” Brian stopped me. “Did you say she broke a bottle of 1973 Dom? Whoa, don’t tell me it was the Dom Perignon Oenotheque?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  His hand went to his heart. “Now there’s the real crime. Busting up a bottle of a sweet year like that. Do you know what that goes for on the open market these days?”

  “As I was saying”—this time, I glared at him—“there is no proof. Zero, zip, nada, nothing.”

  Brian said to Cissy, “She’s right, Mrs. Kendricks. You can’t accuse a man of attempted murder, much less intent to do bodily harm, if you have no witness and no evidence. Unless Kendall wakes up and tells a different story, there doesn’t appear to be cause. If the emergency room personnel had found evidence to suggest foul play, they would’ve already called the police. From what Dr. Taylor said, I assume they’re figuring this was accidental. That Kendall took the supplement of her own free will. And she is eighteen, not a child in the eyes of the law.”

  “Aren’t you off-duty, Mr. Malone?” Mother muttered, and Brian’s brows went up.

  He couldn’t seem to decide whether to be offended or amused, though I saw the corner of his mouth twitch, threatening to curve.

  I decided to end this once and for all. “Okay, hear me now, Mother, and hear me good. The doctor didn’t ever accuse Justin of trying to poison Kendall with ma huang. Maybe he was stupid to put her on a holistic regimen without knowing her health condition, but there doesn’t seem to be malice involved.”

  “Are you so sure he didn’t know about her heart condition?” she asked.

  “No one knew before tonight.”

  “Really? And you’re so certain because you’re psychic?”

  “Right now, I’m closer to psychotic.” I pressed my fingers to my forehead, feeling the ache again. I forced myself to relax my jaw to keep from grinding my teeth. “Marilee certainly seemed surprised. She had no clue about Kendall’s arrhythmia . . . the QT syndrome. And, if she didn’t know, how could Justin?”

  Malone crossed his arms, watching the exchange between my mother and me like a spectator at a ping-pong match.

  “But, Andrea, you’re not grasping the big picture.” She held out her hands as if she were lying about a big fish she’d caught. “Justin and Marilee, Kendall and the ma huang. Don’t you see it?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  What I saw was my attractive sixty-year-old mother, dressed to the gills, standing in the midst of a generic-looking hospital waiting room, making up stories to kill the time. At least, I hoped that’s all she was doing. Or else she’d finally inhaled toxic levels of Joy and her brain was as fried as okra.

  Cissy tapped a pump on the vinyl floor, rat-a-tat-tat. “All right, I’ll explain it to you,” she said. “The girl is under Justin’s spell. She takes whatever herbal hooey he puts in front of her, and suddenly she collapses? You heard Beth. If Kendall had gone into sudden cardiac arrest and expired, an autopsy would’ve ruled it a heart attack. Wouldn’t that have been awfully convenient for Mr. Gable?” She smugly crossed her arms.

  But it wasn’t Mother’s preoccupation with her “Justin’s a killer” theory that had piqued my interest.

  It was what she’d called Dr. Taylor.

  “Beth?” I repeated. “That’s mighty friendly terms to be on with a doctor you just met. Or are you two already acquainted?”

  Cissy preoccupied herself with unclasping the entwined C’s on her Chanel evening bag. Then she jabbed a hand in and fished around. “Beth Taylor is my new neighbor.”

  “The one who just moved into old Mrs. Etherington’s place?”

  “With her husband Richard, yes.”

  I remembered the woman I’d seen in the doorway with the red kerchief on her head, directing the movers like a traffic cop while a reporter from the local news shoved a microphone in her face.

  No wonder she’d seemed familiar.

  “Small world,” I murmured, because sometimes the Park Cities and its surrounds did indeed feel like a very small town, where everyone knew everyone, where you couldn’t escape who you were, no matter how hard you tried. Not as long as you lived.

  “She’s attending the Dallas Diet Club meeting tomorrow afternoon, or did Sandy already tell you?” Cissy slipped a compact from her satin pouch and checked her reflection in its tiny mirror, frowning as she added some powder to her nose and forehead. “Marilee’s crew will be there, taping for a show.”

  “After this? Won’t Kendall’s situation change her plans?”

  My mother stared at me for a long moment, then laughed in that soft silvery way of hers. “Marilee doesn’t change her plans, darling. You should know that by now as well as anyone.”

  “Not even for her daughter?” I asked.

  “Not even if Mari herself were run over by a Mack truck. She’s worked too hard for what she has. If she had to crawl to an appointment on her hands and knees, she’d do it. Besides, things seem to go wrong if she doesn’t stay on top of them. I told you there’ve been some mishaps at the studio, and she wants to keep a close eye on everyone.”

  “You don’t like Justin, do you, Mother?”

  She feigned nonchalance and checked her manicure. “Let’s just say I’ve checked up on our Mr. Gable and learned some interesting tidbits about him. And, even if I hadn’t, I’ve seen too many women of a certain age fall for younger men and end up brokenhearted, not to mention a good deal lighter in the pocketbook. He’s up to no good. He’s a player.”

  “He’s playing Kendall, all right,” I said, nodding. “He’s got her completely under his thumb, acting like he’s the only one who cares about her. She feels neglected by her mother and her father, so a little of Justin’s attention goes a long way.” I flicked my arm in the direction of Kendall’s room. Marilee and the doctor were still in there, though the orderlies had emerged a while before. “She’s so confused. She needs a friend, someone she can trust, and I’m not sure there’s anyone,” I blathered on. “I want to see her before I head home.”

  Otherwise, I knew I wouldn’t sleep.

  “Give Mari another minute with her, sweetie.”

  “Kendall needs to know someone’s on her side.” I still felt guilty about the way I’d handled my encounter with her in Marilee’s office, not completely sure that it didn’t relate somehow to what had happened.

  “It’s not your fault,” Cissy said, not for the first time that night, and she tucked her finger beneath my chin. “Please, don’t blame yourself for anything Kendall has done.”
<
br />   I nodded.

  Though understanding and accepting are two very different things, and I hadn’t quite done either.

  “Er, if you gals don’t mind”—Brian interrupted, reminding us both that he was there—“I’m going to hit the cafeteria and get us some coffee that doesn’t look like it came from the La Brea tar pits.”

  “Thanks,” I told him, as he slid his hands down my arms and rubbed them. “Hot tea would be great.”

  “Mrs. Kendricks?”

  “Coffee with cream and sugar, Mr. Malone, if you please.”

  He nodded. “Sure thing. Be right back.” He headed off, taking the same route out of the waiting area that Justin had. I kept my eyes on him until he’d rounded the corner into the hallway.

  My mother leaned over and whispered, “You’re staring, Andrea.”

  “Am I?”

  She gave me a look like I’d committed a fatal error contrary to Emily Post’s chapter on “Staring is a No-No Unless You’re Comatose.”

  Maybe sooner or later she’d come to realize I was hopeless at following the rules to her “good girl’s guide” and would let me be.

  The door to Kendall’s room flew open, and Marilee rushed out, her black gown flowing behind her. Tears streaked her blotched face. “I can’t take this,” she cried. “I just can’t take this, not after everything else. The spider, the falling boom, the fire, and now this. Why, Cissy, why? I want to go home,” she whined. “Justin can drive me.” Her eyes darted about, frantic when she couldn’t find him. “Where is he?”

  Mother took her arm, and Mari collapsed against Cissy’s smaller frame. “C’mon, hon,” she cooed. “Let’s make a trip to the ladies room and get some cool water on your face. Then we’ll track down the boy.”

  The boy?

  I put a hand over my mouth.

  Their footsteps clack-clacked away, past the empty nurses’ station, finally fading around the corner of the hallway.

  I pulled myself together, crossed the floor to Kendall’s door, and pushed it open wide enough to see Dr. Taylor standing at bedside, gazing down at the young woman lying so still beneath the white sheets.

  “Can I come in?” I asked, and Beth Taylor’s head jerked toward me.

  “Just give me a minute, okay?” She busied herself, glancing at the blipping screen that monitored Kendall’s heartbeat. Then she turned to me and nodded. “It’s all right.”

  I entered, letting the door swing closed behind me.

  “You’re Cissy Kendricks’s daughter, right? Andrea, isn’t it?” she said, her brown eyes taking me in. “So you’re the only Highland Park heiress in the history of the Hockaday School to refuse to debut?”

  If I hadn’t felt so worn out, I would’ve groaned at her description. “I doubt I’m in the textbooks yet,” I said.

  She smiled sympathetically. “Some people are born to break molds.”

  “And others are born to pulverize them.”

  “Your mother is one of a kind herself, you know. I like her already. She’s the first of our new neighbors who dropped by to meet Richard and me.”

  “She likes to lead, not follow.”

  “So I’ve noticed.”

  Beth Taylor had a face that was striking even with minimal makeup. Her bone structure seemed carved from stone, but concern softened the dark of her eyes. I’d seen it there when she’d been looking at Kendall.

  “I hope you like living on Beverly,” I found myself saying. “I grew up on that street, and there’s a real sense of community, despite what you might think from all the goings on.” I thought of the reporter from the suburban paper, Kevin Snodgrass, who’d been interviewing the neighbors, according to Sandy. “It’s downright embarrassing.”

  She shrugged, but her expression turned cooler. “It’d be nice if color didn’t matter, wouldn’t it? But I’ve learned the hard way that it does, a lot more to some people than others.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I can only imagine what that’s like.”

  I knew what it meant to be an outsider, but not because of the shade of my skin.

  Her starched sleeve crinkled as she reached out to pat my arm. “No need for you to apologize. No one person’s responsible, Andy. It’s just the way things have worked for a long time, and we have to hope it’s getting better with every generation.”

  Speaking of getting better.

  My eyes shifted away from Beth Taylor, over to Kendall’s bed. “So is Kendall really okay?” I asked, because part of me still didn’t buy it.

  “Well, she should be now,” the doctor said. “We’ve got her on a beta blocker for her arrhythmia. I heard you’re the reason she got to the hospital so quickly. Without you, she could very well have died. It just amazes me, the things young people do to themselves, despite all the warnings.”

  “I’m just glad I found her in time.” I hated to think what would’ve happened if I hadn’t.

  “I’m more worried about Marilee,” Dr. Taylor said. “LQTS is more common in young adult women, but it can be present in middle-aged females. And it’s just as deadly. I can just about guarantee she has some degree of the long QT herself, since her daughters have been positively diagnosed.”

  “Her daughters?”

  Her dark eyes widened momentarily. “Did I say that? I meant ‘daughter.’ Kendall.” She rubbed a hand over her jaw. “It’s been a long day, a real ball buster.”

  For us all.

  “Can I see her? Just for a bit?”

  “I shouldn’t be allowing her visitors, because she needs her rest. But I’ll give you a few minutes, okay?” “Thanks.”

  Dr. Taylor perused Kendall’s monitors once more before she left, letting the door swing shut behind her.

  I slowly approached the bed and reached over the railing to Kendall.

  An IV clung to the back of her small hand, taped there with a clumsy X of adhesive. Gingerly, I touched her fingers, slid mine underneath and held them.

  Her skin was warmer than it had been when she’d lain on the cold bathroom tiles, and I sighed with relief. The persistent “blip-blip” of the heart monitor sounded better than any Mozart piano sonata.

  “You scared the heck out of me, Kendall,” I said and felt the sudden urge to laugh until I cried. “Please, don’t do it again, all right?”

  “Hmmm.”

  The sound of her voice was so tiny, I wasn’t sure at first that I’d heard it.

  “Kendall?”

  She fluttered her eyes, driving them open to mere slivers, enough to glimpse the foggy brown of her iris. Tears caught in her lashes.

  She moved her mouth again. “Mummy.”

  I leaned closer over the railing.

  “Kendall, it’s me, Andy Kendricks. Your mother’s coming right back. She was just here.” I didn’t care if I was lying if it comforted her.

  “Hurt . . . me,” she breathed.

  “Hush, you’re okay,” I said. “You’re all right.”

  “Mummy . . . help,” she exhaled the words before her eyes fell shut, squeezing a tear down her cheek.

  I set her hand gently down on the sheet and brushed her cheek dry with my finger. My eyes went to her other hand, and I turned it upside down so I could see the scars.

  My chest ached powerfully.

  Kendall had been right about one thing. I didn’t understand.

  She was a girl with a broken heart, and I prayed that what had happened tonight was truly a mistake, an accident, not the result of a troubled eighteen-year-old wanting to take her life.

  Again.

  It was hard for me to imagine sinking that low, feeling that desperate to want to escape. Figuring that killing yourself was the only answer. As many insecure moments as I’d had growing up, I’d never gone there. I guess I was lucky.

  “If we’re lucky, something crazy will happen tonight. Like poisoned food or falling lights.”

  I’d nearly forgotten Kendall’s remarks. What a strange thing to say, looking back, and I wondered if she was me
rely being flippant or prognosticating?

  “Hurt me. Mummy help.”

  Who hurt her? Justin?

  “What really happened, Kendall?” I whispered, getting no answer but the drip-drip of the IV bag into the tubing and the blip-blip of her beating heart.

  Whatever the truth was, we’d have to wait.

  I stared down at the sleeping face, feeling hopeful Kendall would explain when she recovered in the days to come.

  Good God, girl, I mused. What did you get yourself into?

  I went up to the nurses’ station and spoke with the ponytailed girl in pink scrubs whose nametag read: ALICE PECK. She listened without blinking as I suggested they keep an eye on any visitors to Kendall’s room, notably a fellow named Justin Gable.

  Nurse Alice indulged me with a nod and assured me she’d personally monitor the comings and goings regarding Ms. Mabry’s room. After all, it was a private bed, paid for by The Sweet Life’s Marilee Mabry herself.

  I did a quick survey of the surroundings, the wide brightly lit hallways, the circular desk, and the waiting room, but I saw no sign of Justin. I had wanted to point him out to Nurse Alice, but ended up giving her a brief description instead.

  “Good-looking blond man with bedroom eyes and a square jaw, about five foot ten inches tall and all of it lean muscle.”

  “And you want me to keep this guy out of Ms. Mabry’s room?” Nurse Alice stared at me like I was crazy.

  “Right.”

  I didn’t know if Kendall was afraid of Justin or not. I just didn’t want to take any chances.

  Alice sobered up and promised to talk to Dr. Taylor.

  “Thank you.”

  Chewing on my lower lip, I trudged over to the waiting area. Neither Marilee nor Justin had returned, and I wondered if they’d already gone home. Maybe my mother had left Marilee washing her face in the rest room, because Cissy was present and accounted for. I saw her standing near the muted overhead TV, conversing in a fairly civilized fashion with Malone. I wanted to believe they were sharing a bonding moment. Unfortunately, as I approached, I caught the gist of their conversation and realized it wasn’t the kind of harmless chitchat I’d hoped.