Blue Blood: A Debutante Dropout Mystery

by McBride, Susan

  I blamed Bud Hartman, too, for all the trouble he’d caused.

  “You’ll have to talk to the police,” I said softly, taking a cautious step toward her. “You can’t let another woman—another mother—pay for a crime she didn’t commit.”

  “I know,” she sobbed, sliding down against the door, sinking to the floor, and burying her head in her knees. “I know, I know, I know.”

  I thought I’d feel different when I found the truth, when I’d proved Molly’s innocence. Like I’d won the lottery.

  But I didn’t.

  “Kendricks, are you in there?”

  A fist pounded the door.

  Malone.

  “Is everything all right? Can you hear me?”

  He banged again.

  “Andy?”

  “I’m okay,” I called back, quickly lifting my glasses to rub the damp from my eyes, while across the room, Peggy Martin moaned and rocked herself, wounded beyond repair. “It’s going to be all right,” I told him.

  Another lie.

  One too many.

  Chapter 26

  “Would you like more tea, Andy?”

  I glanced up into Sandy’s smiling face and shook my head. “No, thanks. I’m fine.” My glass of iced tea was still more than half full.

  “How about you, Cissy?”

  “Just a little would be lovely.”

  Sandy topped off her glass, set down the pitcher, then descended the stone steps toward the lawn below where David rolled around on the grass with the new puppy Mother had given him. At least it was a cocker spaniel and not a Great Dane, so maybe Molly wouldn’t have a heart attack when she saw the pair when Malone arrived with her—I checked my wristwatch—any minute.

  I looked over to the chaise longue where Mother had settled herself. She’d donned a hat and sunglasses to protect herself from the sun streaming on the back terrace. All she needed was a cigarette in one of those long holders, and she’d have been a dead ringer for Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard.

  Okay, maybe not a dead ringer, but close enough.

  She caught me grinning at her and said, “You certainly look like the cat who swallowed the canary.”

  I didn’t let on to her what I’d actually been thinking. I doubt she would’ve found the comparison to Norma Desmond flattering.

  Instead, I tipped my chin toward the lawn, where David and Sandy alternated tossing a ball to the puppy. “I do believe you’re going to miss him.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said and sniffed, closing her Town & Country with a snap and setting it down in her lap. But I saw the twitch of emotion at her mouth, and I knew I was right.

  “Mother?”

  “Well, he is well behaved.”

  “Molly’s a good mom,” I quietly commented.

  Though Cissy didn’t agree with me, neither did she disagree. Which I figured boded well for Molly. Mother could have just as easily made a snide comment about “that scholarship girl” who’d been arrested for murder.

  But she didn’t.

  “Maybe you could help her out,” I dared to suggest. “You know everyone who’s anyone in Dallas. She can’t go back to Jugs, and she has to support herself and David. She always did love fashion, so maybe Terry Costa or the Gazebo?”

  “I might be able to arrange something,” she murmured from beneath the wide brim of her hat, and I knew it was as good as done.

  “I want to tell you how, um, great you’ve been through all of this, Mother, and how much I, uh, appreciate your, er, assistance,” I stammered, sounding like Malone when he got riled up. My family didn’t do emotions well. They were awkward. Like hugs. Neither the Blevins nor the Kendricks had ever embraced sentimentality. Believe it or not, I was the sappiest of the bunch.

  She turned to me, pulling her 1930s-style Donna Karan shades down to the tip of her powdered nose to reveal the twinkle in her pale blue gaze. “You might not feel so grateful when you find out what it’ll cost you.”

  I sank back against the cushions and groaned. “I’ll accept whatever punishment you dish out. Just please don’t recruit me to walk the runway at one of your charity fashion shows. You know how I hate to play dress up.”

  “Really? So those purple shorts and tight T-shirt were, what, a new look for you?”

  Oh, hell.

  I turned to glare at her, and she winked.

  The second time she’d done that in a week. What was going on?

  “I think you’ll rather enjoy what I’ve got planned for you, Andrea, dear. I certainly will,” she added with a laugh as disconcerting as breaking crystal.

  “Mother.” I didn’t like the sound of this. In fact, it frightened me. “Maybe we should talk about whatever you . . .”

  My plea was drowned out by a joyful squeal.

  “Mommy!”

  David dropped the red ball he’d been about to toss to the cocker and rushed across the lawn as Molly and Malone appeared around the corner of the house.

  Getting to my feet, I scurried over to the low stone wall and waited, a shiver dashing up my spine as I watched Molly lift her son into her arms. She held on to him, burying her face in his shoulder, turning round and round until I thought she might fall down, dizzy.

  “Baby, my baby,” I heard her saying over and over as she planted kisses on his face.

  “I wanted to make him suffer for what he did to my baby.”

  For an instant, Peggy Martin’s sobs rang in my ears.

  I had to remind myself that life wasn’t always fair.

  Molly let David down, and they both fell to the grass, giggling.

  Her gaze came to rest on me, and I grinned.

  The smile she gave me in return made me feel like I floated on air.

  Okay, maybe life was fair on occasion.

  Malone loped up the stone steps and stood beside me.

  “So it’s over,” I said as he tried to smooth down wavy hair ruffled by the wind.

  “It’s definitely over,” he assured me. “All charges against Molly have been dropped. They couldn’t hold her, not after they had Peggy Martin’s confession and the digitally enhanced tape.”

  “Poor Peggy,” I whispered, turning so that my hip touched the low wall. “It’s all so horrible.”

  “Poor Peggy stabbed a man to death and put another man in a coma,” Malone said, as if I needed reminding. He loosened the paisley-print tie at his throat and unbuttoned the top buttons of his starched yellow shirt.

  “Bud had violated her daughter, or have you forgotten?” I nudged him with my foot. “And Fred Hicks tried to blackmail her. They weren’t exactly shining examples of human nature.”

  “Point taken, but that doesn’t justify double murder, which is what the D.A.’s going to charge her with since Hicks won’t make it off life support.” He crossed his arms and looked at me in that earnest way of his that reminded me of Jimmy Stewart. “Ms. Martin can plead temporary insanity and take her chances in court. If she gets a sympathetic jury, maybe she’ll get off with a stay at a mental health facility. A long stay, if you get my drift.”

  As in the rest of her life. I got it.

  “It’s one of those cases where no one comes out a winner,” he remarked, and, for once, I didn’t argue with him.

  “I still don’t understand why no one ever pressed charges against Hartman. If just one waitress he’d harassed had spoken up, had actually gone to the authorities, maybe none of this would ever have happened.”

  “Most people tend to avoid conflict if they can,” Malone said and pressed a finger to the bridge of his glasses to hike them up. “Sometimes it’s easier to ignore a bad situation, pretend it doesn’t exist.”

  He was probably right.

  Still, if there was one thing my father had taught me—and my mother, too, mostly by example—it was never to take crap from anyone.

  If you didn’t stand up for yourself, no one would.

  The puppy barked, and I turned to see David on his knees, arms around the wiggling
creature. Molly knelt at his side, a hand on his arm as if she were afraid to let him go.

  “She’s lucky to have you, Andy,” Malone remarked, and his fingers brushed mine so that I thought he’d take hold.

  But he didn’t.

  “If it weren’t for you, she’d still be in jail with a pretty bleak road ahead of her. I don’t know too many people who’d go to the lengths you did in order to bail out a friend you hadn’t spoken to in years.”

  “You don’t understand.” I sighed, still watching David and Molly.

  “Try me.”

  I took a deep breath and hoped I wouldn’t sound like a fool. “If you’re lucky in life, you’ll meet at least one person who’s true-blue,” I started gingerly, not sure how to explain the bond Molly and I had forged or if it could even be explained at all. “Molly was like that. She didn’t care how I looked or what I wore or if my daddy was rich. She liked me for myself, or maybe in spite of myself.” I shrugged. “You don’t forget friends like that.”

  His mouth curved upward, a silly grin that made me wonder if he were mocking me.

  “Maybe that sounds silly.” I couldn’t look at him.

  “No,” he said. “It doesn’t sound silly at all.”

  “Oh.” I stared down at my hands, embarrassed regardless.

  He toed me with his loafer. “Hey, you’re not the only one who’s loyal to a fault.”

  I squinted up at him.

  “Seems the cops couldn’t get Reverend Jim Bob to ’fess up to being blackmailed by Hartman or anyone else. He wouldn’t even admit to having an affair with Julie Costello. Just claimed they were good friends who prayed together now and then.”

  “Oh, God.” I couldn’t believe it. “So that means Julie’s still got Jim Bob by his, um, collection plate?” I actually felt sorry for the guy. “So who was it who said crime doesn’t pay?”

  “Well, I know that it wasn’t a lawyer.”

  Epilogue

  I climbed the staircase leading to the foyer at the Morton Meyerson Symphony Center, listening to the click-clack of my footsteps on the peach marble as I carefully ascended in the high-heeled Manolo Blahnik sandals that Mother had insisted I wear that evening.

  “Come now, Andrea, quit dawdling,” Cissy scolded from behind.

  I sighed, picking up the pace as much as I could without falling on my face. Above us, the tinkle of piano keys resonated, floating above the hum of voices.

  I emerged into the foyer and hesitated, surveying the crowd in black tie and gowns that milled about with champagne flutes in hand.

  Mother came up beside me and hooked an arm through my elbow. “Please, Andrea, try to look happy to be here. It’s a benefit, not a funeral. No one died.”

  Oh, yes. Someone had.

  Me.

  Or, at least, I wished I were dead. Better than to be here amongst a host of Mother’s friends who would no doubt chat about me behind my back, reminding each other that I was the debutante dropout. The daughter of a Blevins and a Kendricks who was a no-show at her own coming out.

  I started to cringe, until I caught myself.

  So what?

  Who cares if they did yap about me?

  At least I’d give them something more interesting to discuss than which Thomas, Richard, or Harriet had faces lifted, tummies tucked, or noses bobbed since the last Symphony gala.

  I held my head high, relieved to find my sense of humor intact. I’d need it for the next several hours, because there was no backing out.

  This was my repayment to Mother for her allowing David to stay at her house and for keeping him out of the hands of social services. Oh, and for the snooping she’d done, for which she seemed inordinately pleased with herself.

  One night, I told myself.

  “An Evening at the Symphony” to benefit Children’s Medical Center. One thousand smackeroos per ticket. With Cristal and dancing in the foyer prior to the night’s performance of Handel and Beethoven.

  I had survived blind dates far worse than this.

  “Oh, look, Andrea, there’s a friend of yours.” Cissy nudged me, and I scanned the gaggle of glitterati to find the familiar face.

  “Mother,” I said under my breath.

  Brian Malone walked toward us. “Go on,” she hissed in my ear, giving me a less-than-gentle shove.

  I stumbled forward, nearly falling from the heights of my unsensible shoes, though I steadied myself and smoothed down the front of my blue raw silk dress. Another item Mother had insisted on. It clung to my skin in a way that made me feel more naked than the hot pants at Jugs.

  Malone tugged at the cuffs of his tuxedo as he approached, looking strangely grateful to see me. But not at all surprised.

  “Wow, Kendricks,” he said and took me in with wide eyes. “Is it really you?”

  Mother had made me go with her to José Eber’s in the afternoon to have my hair and makeup done, and I felt like a complete fraud, certainly not like the Andrea Kendricks who’d defied her mother and Dallas society in one fell swoop.

  “You look great, too,” I told him, and he blushed.

  He bent closer so I could hear him over the pianist and the schmoozing. “You want to dance?”

  I stared at him. “Do you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” He took my hand in his and led me over to the area where couples gracefully swirled, twirled, and dipped. I only hoped I wouldn’t step on his toes. I doubtless could maim him pretty good with my spiked heels.

  He pulled me close, and I inhaled the smell of him, the scent of soap on his skin beneath his lime-tinged aftershave.

  “What a coincidence that you’re here,” I got out.

  “It’s no coincidence, Andy.”

  I wrinkled my brow. “Oh?”

  “Cissy invited me,” he said.

  “She did?”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t know.”

  “Mother’s full of surprises.”

  My eyes narrowed, I peered over his shoulder and spied her across the foyer.

  She was watching us.

  Beaming.

  I hadn’t seen her look that pleased in years, since she’d found the pear-shaped gold Judith Leiber bag at Neimans. On sale.

  “Is everything all right, Andy?”

  “Never better,” I snapped.

  “I thought it was pretty generous of her,” Malone remarked. “She picked up my tab.”

  “For the ticket?”

  “Yes, that, too. And for Molly’s defense.”

  My feet stopped moving, and Malone bumped into me. “I told you I’d handle your fee,” I said, caught between disbelief that Cissy would’ve helped out “that scholarship girl” and miffed that she’d done it without telling me.

  “Well, don’t worry, your mother took care of everything.”

  She certainly had, I thought, amazed at how quickly Mother worked. I swear, if she’d been as good at science as she was at manipulation, she would’ve been making nuclear weapons with her Little Miss Chemistry set while the other kids were concocting stink bombs.

  “Cissy arranged for us to sit together during the program,” he said, his breath tickling my ear. He held me so near I could feel his heart beat against mine. “And then, afterward, she suggested drinks at the Mansion in the Library.”

  “Mother is too thoughtful,” I replied, dripping sarcasm, but he seemed oblivious.

  I gazed up at his smiling face and wondered if he had the slightest idea what he’d gotten himself into.

  He bent over to whisper, “I say we lose your mom at intermission and go find a burger joint that’ll serve a gorgeous brunette and a lawyer in a monkey suit.”

  Then again, maybe he did.

  About the Author

  SUSAN McBRIDE is the author of The Truth About Love & Lightning, Little Black Dress, and The Cougar Club, all Target Recommended Reads. She also penned the award-winning Debutante Dropout Mysteries, including Blue Blood and Too Pretty to Die. She lives in St. Louis, Missouri, with her husb
and and daughter.

  Visit Susan’s website at www.SusanMcBride.com for more info.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  Praise for Blue Blood

  IT’S A GALA COMING-OUT PARTY FOR ANDREA KENDRICKS AND SUSAN McBRIDE—WITH RESOUNDING PRAISE FOR

  BLUE BLOOD

  “Susan McBride creates a wonderfully determined and clever sleuth who is willing to peel off the white gloves and don a Wonderbra in pursuit of the bad guys.”

  Jerrilyn Farmer

  “Refreshing . . . Susan McBride has an engaging new heroine in Andrea Kendricks, a young woman whose approach to crime-solving is asking herself WWND? (What Would Nancy [Drew] Do?)”

  Thomas Perry

  “Debutantes, murder, and big boobs—this book has it all! Susan McBride kept me laughing all the way through.”

  Tess Gerritsen

  “BLUE BLOOD is a wry, dead-on social commentary masquerading as a can’t-put-it-down mystery. Highly recommended for those who love to laugh.”

  John Westermann

  “Andrea Kendricks . . . is a treasure.”

  Charlaine Harris

  “BLUE BLOOD is delightful, witty, and oh-so-proper (not!). Susan McBride has Dallas society on its designer-clad toes.”

  Carolyn Tillery, Society Editor, Park Cities People (Dallas)

  Books by Susan McBride

  THE TRUTH ABOUT LOVE AND LIGHTNING

  LITTLE BLACK DRESS

  THE COUGAR CLUB

  TOO PRETTY TO DIE

  NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEB

  THE LONE STAR LONELY HEARTS CLUB

  THE GOOD GIRL’S GUIDE TO MURDER

  BLUE BLOOD

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  BLUE BLOOD. Copyright © 2004 by Susan McBride. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.