Murder Borrowed, Murder Blue

by Stephanie Blackmoore

  * * *

  An hour later, I awoke to a nurse poking and prodding my arm. She murmured an apology and explained she was getting a blood sample.

  “Just keep resting, sweetie,” she counseled as she left the room.

  Yeah, right.

  I felt safe from the marauding murderers of Port Quincy all locked up in my hospital room, but there was no way I’d be getting rest anytime soon. A steady stream of nurses and orderlies trooped up to my bed at regular intervals to read my vitals and make sure I was okay. I was grateful for their care, but I also needed some sleep.

  “You’re awake!” Dakota peeked her shining red head into the room and let out a squeal of relief. “I had to see for myself that you’re all right.” She placed a hand on her heart and sat down in the chair.

  I smiled at the would-be bride.

  I don’t really think she’s a killer.

  “I’m just glad you’re going to recover,” she gushed as Roxanne joined us. She gave me a cool nod as she settled into the other guest chair against the wall. The big bag at her feet yapped and rustled, and I let out a weak giggle.

  “You snuck in Miss Pixie,” I guessed.

  Roxanne broke into a rueful smile and let the Shih Tzu out of the bag. Pixie hopped up into Dakota’s lap and gave a doggie grin.

  “I’m lucky the poison took effect so quickly,” I mused, watching Dakota and Roxanne’s faces carefully. “The person who put it in Owen’s cup probably thought he would get a little woozy, go home, and never wake up.”

  Dakota gasped and her hand, sans diamond ring, flew up to cover her plump lips. Pixie picked up on her stress and let out a little bark. “It was that rotten, no-good bastard Beau, I bet.” Her accusation came out in a heated staccato hiss.

  “We should let Mallory rest,” Roxanne admonished.

  That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.

  Dakota gave me a hug and started to leave the room. “I’m going to go see Xavier, Mom. Meet you later in the car?”

  “He’s awake?” I gasped and tried to sit up, then thought better of it when the roaring headache gripping my temples accelerated.

  “He awoke earlier today, and he’s getting discharged tonight.” Dakota beamed at finally having some good news to report, and she slipped out the door, Pixie ensconced in the big bag on her shoulder.

  Roxanne gave her daughter a regal nod and remained in her chair.

  We were alone.

  “I should be more upset that my daughter isn’t getting married to Beau, but perhaps it’s for the best,” she mused.

  “Um, he probably murdered Ginger,” I said, my voice high with incredulity. “And at the very least, he was having an affair with her.” My blood pressure began to rise, as evidenced by the louder beeping of one of the monitors.

  Roxanne stood and took a step toward my bed. A cold wash of panic stole over me.

  “Sleep well, Mallory.”

  She was peeved, a barely suppressed current of anger running through her like an electrical charge.

  I wish Dakota had left Pixie behind.

  Sleep was the last thing on my mind, now that I’d taken an hour’s catnap, basking in the glow of Garrett’s declaration that he loved me. Now my mind was recharged and racing.

  Fat chance I’ll be able to sleep until you leave this room.

  A stray thought blew through my mind like a snowflake in a blizzard.

  “You have some experience with that, I’ve heard.”

  “Excuse me?” Roxanne stiffened and stopped her exit from my room.

  “Getting people to sleep. I know you used to drug Dakota with sleeping pills.” My voice was stronger and clearer than I felt. I wanted to keep up the pretense that I was recovering more quickly than I was.

  A jolt of alarm marred Roxanne’s preternaturally smooth, Botoxed face.

  “Is that a threat, Mallory?” Her smile was cold and hard. She crossed the room and shut the door.

  A bead of sweat trickled down my neck.

  Chapter Twenty

  “You killed Caitlin, didn’t you.”

  It was a declaration, not a question.

  Roxanne didn’t blanch, but simply cocked her head to one side. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, my dear.” But a cold cast of clarity shone in her eyes.

  “You needed Silverlake High to go on,” I mused aloud.

  Where is a nurse when you need one?

  Surely it was only a matter of time before one buzzed into my room.

  Right?

  “It was a shame Caitlin had to die.” Roxanne’s remark was flippant and sent a chill coursing through my limbs.

  “You spend your daughter’s money like water.” It hit me. “You’ve been embezzling from Dakota, haven’t you? That’s why you needed this marriage to happen. So Dakota wouldn’t know you’ve been bilking her out of her money.”

  I had finally gotten to her. Accusing her of murdering Caitlin hadn’t shaken her, but the accusation about money had rattled her to her core.

  “You were probably mismanaging your daughter’s money even back during Silverlake High,” I whispered.

  “Caitlin was holding out,” Roxanne spat. “She was trying to get more money for herself when my Dakota was the real star of the show.”

  “So you sped up the process to get rid of Caitlin once and for all. But you made a mistake. You didn’t count on the network canceling the show upon the death of its true star.”

  Roxanne shook her head, her silver earrings jangling. “You don’t know the whole story. And I don’t have to stay and take this.” She backed up from my bed. I peeled back the covers with excruciating exhaustion weighing down my arms.

  I have to keep her here.

  “Xavier said he was laid up on NyQuil the week Caitlin died. You and he had the flu, right?”

  Roxanne stopped in her tracks and wheeled around to face my bed. Her counterfeit youthful face twitched in admission.

  “You were known to drug your own daughter with sleeping pills when you thought her insomnia was affecting her work. So you just drugged Xavier and murdered Caitlin while he was out of it with the flu.”

  My eyes dropped to Roxanne’s careworn hands, aged prematurely by chemicals and hard work, no doubt when she’d toiled as a cleaner to launch her daughter’s career.

  “And you knew,” I whispered, “about the dangers of mixing ammonia and bleach.”

  “That’s enough!” Roxanne stepped closer to my bed and my heart rate sped up. The machine began to beep. She viciously unplugged it from the wall with a harsh yank.

  “I did crush up sleeping pills in Dakota’s food. I’m not proud of it, but her insomnia was making her forget lines and mess up on camera. But I never did it again after that horrible week Caitlin died.” She shuddered and sat down where Rachel had been an hour ago. I cringed and backed up on the pillow.

  “Oh, I’m not going to hurt you,” Roxanne said wearily, finally looking a bit more her age, exhaustion and disgust permeating the Botox mask.

  “Someone took a page out of my own book the week Dakota’s friends were visiting, and drugged me.”

  It was a likely story.

  “That’s awfully convenient, when you’re the one with the history of crushing up sleeping pills.”

  Roxanne shook her head and grabbed my hand. I yelped and extricated it from her clammy grasp.

  “Xavier gave me a taste of my own medicine,” she whispered. “He even used his own sleeping pills so I wouldn’t figure it out.”

  I threw back my head and laughed, the chuckle making my head spin.

  “That’s rich. Xavier is Mr. Crunchy. He would never take a pharmaceutical.”

  Roxanne grabbed my hand again and this time wouldn’t let go. “Xavier is into his image and wouldn’t want anyone to think he was taking them. But make no mistake, he’s addicted to sleeping pills and can’t rest without them.”

  A stray thought skittered through my head. I recalled my search of the B and B rooms wit
h my sister, and the little bottle of all-natural herbal sleep aids in Xavier’s possession.

  “He hides the sleeping pills in melatonin bottles,” I whispered.

  Roxanne nodded, giving me an appraising look.

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Roxanne could have drugged Xavier that fateful week in Los Angeles, as Xavier claimed, or she could have been drugged by him.

  Roxanne finally let go of my arm and stood, tears pooling in her eyes. “You don’t.” A fervent look burned in her eyes. “Just please don’t implicate him, Mallory. I’m begging you.”

  * * *

  It was her declaration that convinced me. Roxanne was still in love with Xavier after thirteen years.

  She’s still protecting him.

  She stole from the room at last, and I slowly peeled back the covers. If what Dakota said about Xavier getting discharged was true, I didn’t have much time.

  I slipped the monitor from my fingertip and placed my polka-dotted hospital gown in a neatly folded pile on the bed. It was hard to dress myself. I fumbled with the ornate buttons of the pretty lilac dress I’d worn to the rehearsal dinner, cursing my choice not to wear something with a zipper. My equilibrium was off from the belladonna. I was woozy and exhausted. The lights seemed too bright when I stood. But I pressed on.

  Truman and Rachel and Garrett will be so ticked.

  I brushed the thought away and finished slipping on my silver flats. I was glad I’d worn sensible shoes to work the rehearsal dinner. I didn’t think I could manage heels in my current state.

  The hallway was clear when I slipped out of my room. I gathered up every ounce of reserve energy I had to shuffle calmly down the hall to the elevators. I leaned against the wall when I’d finally made it in and rested my eyes.

  “Are you okay, miss?”

  “I’m fine.” I offered the worried visitor what I hoped was a convincing smile and dragged myself to the front desk when we reached the first floor.

  “I’m here to visit Xavier Morris,” I announced. The attendant tapped away at a keyboard.

  “He’s in room 303. Visiting hours end soon. And it looks like he’s getting discharged momentarily.”

  I dragged my foggy-headed self back to the elevator, resting in the hallway outside his door.

  Am I really doing this?

  I felt around in my purse for my cell phone but couldn’t find it in the flotsam and jetsam at the bottom.

  “Mallory, what a pleasant surprise.”

  Xavier sat in a wheelchair, ready to be discharged. A small bag sat next to him. He wore a beatific yet weary smile. His skin had finally lost the luminescent glow, I guess because he’d been fed intravenously this week rather than consuming his special smoothies.

  “Roxanne is just getting the car now,” he declared as he folded his long fingers in his lap.

  “You woke up.” I leaned against the doorjamb and tried to look natural. I didn’t want to telegraph that I was probably too unwell to confront him.

  “I can’t imagine why someone tried to poison me.” He offered me a chilling smile.

  “Oh, I can think of a half dozen reasons.”

  His smile dropped from his face in degrees. He swallowed and sat up straighter in the wheelchair, his Adam’s apple dancing.

  “I know you take sleeping pills instead of melatonin,” I spat.

  A look of relief stole over Xavier’s face. “Oh? So what?”

  “You drugged Roxanne thirteen years ago when you both had the flu. While she was sleeping, you slipped onto the set of Silverlake High and locked Caitlin in Dakota’s dressing room.”

  Xavier dropped the pretense and deflated in the chair. “Very good, Mallory.” He looked as exhausted as I did, though he’d spent the week in a coma. “That little wretch was ruining everything.” He dragged a hand down his weary face before returning it to his lap.

  “So you mixed bleach and ammonia together because it was on hand in the janitor’s closet. And it pointed to Roxanne, since she was a cleaning woman for a time while she was trying to get Dakota her start.”

  Xavier nodded. “The Los Angeles police zeroed in on Roxanne, but lucky for her, they couldn’t make it stick.”

  “Because you murdered Caitlin!” I took a deep breath and struggled to remain standing. “And you locked her in Dakota’s dressing room to make it even harder to trace back to you.”

  “Caitlin was the golden goose,” Xavier raved from his chair. “She made the show what it was. But she was willing to bring it down with her unreasonable demands.”

  “But the show ended anyway. You chose the wrong course of action. You not only murdered an innocent young woman, but your crime caused the show to go off the air.”

  Xavier gave a bitter nod of his head.

  “Rachel and I are no longer interested in the destination wedding show, by the way,” I wryly announced. I didn’t think Rachel would mind me speaking for her if she knew Xavier had killed Caitlin Quinn.

  “And now I’m going to the authorities.” I leaned forward and wobbled. A knowing look stole over Xavier’s face.

  I may have played my hand too soon.

  “Be that as it may,” he mused, “this is all your word against mine. The Los Angeles Police Department closed the case. They could never figure it out, and it’s not like you were there.”

  “There’s no statute of limitations on murder,” I muttered. “You’re going down for this.”

  “This is just a cockamamie theory on your part.” A superior look stole over the director’s face and deepened as he watched me hold the doorframe for support.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me.” He wheeled the chair toward the door.

  “I don’t think so!” I flung myself at the wheelchair in a last-ditch effort before I collapsed. Xavier and I landed on the floor in a tangle of limbs.

  “Gerroff of me!” he mumbled and I twisted over and tried to pin him as Truman had done last night with Beau. Too bad I didn’t have Rachel’s Indiana Jones whip.

  Loud footsteps slapped on the linoleum floor. “What did your sister tell you about getting some rest?” Truman leaned down and hoisted me up in one fluid movement, placing me in Xavier’s wheelchair. He straddled the director’s back and cuffed him. A befuddled candy striper stared at the melee from the hall, her mouth dropping open.

  “I thought I’d come back to check on you. I knew you wouldn’t stay in your room.” A rueful smile perked up the corners of Truman’s mouth. “Nice work, Mallory.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  It took some major convincing, but the hospital eventually let me go. I had to swear up and down I’d take care of myself, and I had a doctor’s appointment scheduled for Monday to make sure.

  I felt like a sitting duck in the hospital, what with people like Xavier in my midst. I liked my chances better on the outside. Truman actually lobbied for my release, and Rachel picked me up in the Butterscotch Monster in time for a quick shower back at Thistle Park.

  “So Xavier murdered Caitlin to save Silverlake High,” my sister mused. “I’m glad we won’t have anything to do with that destination show.” She handed me a cup of tea. I stared at it for a moment and let out a barking laugh.

  “You’re not trying to poison me, are you?”

  A flush of pink stained Rachel’s cheeks. “I should have offered something else. How about some hot cocoa?”

  We set off for the apartment kitchen, a cheery white, yellow, and turquoise space designed by our mother. I sank gratefully into a chair while Rachel bustled about.

  “But Caitlin’s murder was all for naught. The show was cancelled because he killed her.” I shivered. “And Dakota must have told her former fiancé, Beau, about what went down in Los Angeles thirteen years ago so he could replicate the murder to kill Ginger.”

  Rachel shook her head in disgust. “So if anyone put the pieces together, they’d think maybe Dakota was behind it instead of Beau.” She set down two steaming mugs of hot cocoa and we drank in sa
d but companionable silence.

  “Are you sure you’re up for Ginger’s memorial?” Rachel cocked her head and gave me a careful once-over.

  “I’m shocked Ginger and Beau were having an affair,” I began. “But I’d still like to pay my respects.”

  We gathered our coats and a few silk bouquets from Dakota and Beau’s scrapped nuptials. The carriage house was a sea of red and pink and white, awaiting a wedding that was never to be. The metallic magenta snowflakes flapped delicately in the breeze from the open door. The tables were set with silver and white china, the stemware sparkling and ready for champagne. I closed my eyes against the perfectly appointed space and turned out the light. I would deal with disassembling the trappings of Dakota’s wedding when the effects of the belladonna had entirely worn off.

  Rachel and I slipped into the last row of the packed auditorium at Dunlap Academy. Dakota, seated on the stage, waved to us, as did Ellie. Ginger’s parents spoke first. Then it was Leah’s turn to eulogize Ginger. She described the former headmistress as her teacher, mentor, and friend. She broke down in tears halfway through her speech, but carried on. Dakota and Ellie spoke of their friend, the third musketeer. Dakota’s speech was particularly impressive given that she’d just found out her fiancé had been involved with Ginger for a year without her knowledge.

  “That was a beautiful speech, darling.” Iris clucked like a mother hen at the reception after the memorial and smoothed Ellie’s hair. The grown woman ducked from her mother’s ministrations and blushed. “Um, thanks, Mom.”

  “As was your speech, Leah, dear.” Iris patted Leah on the head like a child as well, and she rolled her eyes as her mother flattened her spiky purple bangs.

  “Leah has good news,” Iris continued, puffing up her chest with unsuppressed pride. “She got her acceptance letter to Harvard yesterday!”

  It felt good to finally have something to celebrate amidst all the doom and gloom and murder.

  I smiled up from the chair where I was resting. “That’s awesome news, Leah.”

  Iris wandered off to spread the news of her daughter’s acceptance far and wide. Leah let out a breath.