Someone else drew me toward the chairs in the waiting area, where I sat and fought back tears, until Sandy showed up in a matter of minutes and put her arms around me. Together, we waited and waited, for what seemed an eternity.
When finally we were told we could go in, one at a time, Sandy prodded me forward, despite how much I knew she wanted to see Cissy with her own eyes.
I would have snuck her in beside me, if the nurse hadn’t stood there, guarding the door like the Secret Service.
“She’s had a tube down her throat, so she’ll be hoarse for a while. Her stomach won’t feel so great, either,” the scrub-wearing bodyguard told us.
But hoarse was far better than dead, so I thanked her profusely.
I entered the room on tiptoe; quiet as a mouse as I crossed toward the bed.
Cissy curled in a fetal position beneath the sheets, the curtain pulled halfway around it to give her privacy.
I went right to her and reached my hand through the side rail. I needed to touch her, feel the warmth of her skin. She didn’t have to be awake, just alive.
Gingerly, I curled my fingers around hers, as if she were fragile and might break if I held on too tight.
She opened her eyes, looked up, and grimaced. “Gastric lavage,” she croaked in a whisper. “It sounds French, but all it means is they suck your guts out. Ugh.”
“They had to, Mother,” I reminded her. “You had enough sedative in your system to knock a horse off its hooves.”
She gestured at the water on the fake wood table beside her, drawing herself up higher on the pillow. I held the cup and straw so she could take a sip. When she was done and settled back, she sighed. “Is Sandy here?”
“Waiting just outside.” I hesitated. “Stephen’s on his way, too.”
I thought maybe that would please her, but she showed no sign of it. She blinked hard, her face fighting her emotions.
I saw her throat work as she swallowed. “Mabel Pinkston tried to kill me, didn’t she? She came to the door after you left, and I let her in. I thought she was a harmless old woman.” Her pale eyes glistened. “She put something stronger than honey and lemon in the tea. I was halfway through the cup when it hit me. While I could still stagger, she hustled me out to the car and shoved me in.” She stopped, her chin trembling. “Why would she do that, Andy? Why would she want to hurt me? I hardly knew her.”
I stroked her hair, as she’d stroked mine when I’d been sick as a child. “She did it because she knew what you were up to.”
“How?”
“Annabelle told her you were out to destroy Belle Meade.” I debated whether to spill the rest then and there, but she had a right to hear, after what she’d been through. “I think she killed Bebe and Sarah Lee, too. They’d threatened to sue, and Annabelle panicked. Mabel came to her rescue, made things right, as she had Annabelle’s whole life.”
“She killed Sarah and Bebe?” A feeble moan worked its way through her cracked lips, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Tears streaked out between dark lashes. “So I was right all along. They were murdered.”
“You were dead-on.”
For a moment, she was quiet, and I heard voices outside the door.
Mother said hoarsely, “I was fooled by a woman I felt sorry for. I underestimated Mabel Pinkston, and she got the better of me. Do you know what that means?” She hiccupped. “I’m a lousy detective, aren’t I?”
She looked so despondent, so miserable in the hospital gown, having had a tube down her throat and her stomach pumped; seeing her like that would have broken my heart any other time.
But I was so glad she was okay, and I wanted her to stay that way.
I bent close and whispered against her damp cheek, “I’m only gonna say this once, so listen good. You may be a crummy detective, Cissy Blevins Kendricks, but you’re a most amazing woman. Oh, yeah, and you’ll play Nancy Drew again over my dead body.”
Without the slightest hesitation, she whispered back, “I guess we’ll see about that, won’t we, Sparky?”
Epilogue
If I were to write a final report on The Case of the Murdering Mabel, as Mother liked to call it, my conclusions would’ve amounted to something like this:
Stephen Howard, my new-found hero, ended up nabbing the elusive “Em” as she walked to her rented rooms up Garland Road. She’d ditched the black wig and eyeglasses somewhere en route from the Arboretum, and I hoped Mrs. Coogan wouldn’t be too upset when Cissy didn’t return them. As I see it, that was the one decent thing Mabel did.
The Dallas police were holding Mabel Pinkston Albright on assorted charges, including kidnapping and attempted murder. Mother’s statement and testimony would be the biggest piece of evidence against her.
Okay, maybe the only evidence against her.
Much as the D.A.’s office claimed they’d like to investigate the deaths of Bebe Kent and Sarah Lee Sewell, there wasn’t much to go on. Particularly since the blood test on Sarah Lee returned negative, showing only traces of all the meds she’d been taking, including the hydroxyzine Pamoate. Like Dr. Finch had told me, there was no way to quantify how much of it was in someone’s system once it was ingested; ergo, no one could prove the women were poisoned with their own drugs.
Mabel had been much smarter than anyone had given her credit for.
Annabelle wasn’t talking. Big surprise. She was lucky not to be behind bars herself, charged with blind faith and stupidity.
Mum’s the word with the Finches, too. (I guess, birds of a feather keep their beaks shut together.)
Anyway, I was out of the detecting business, and Cissy was, too, whether she liked it or not. We just weren’t cut out for undercover work. Or out of cover, for that matter.
Case closed.
Qué será, será.
End of report.
Brian Malone returned from Galveston on Wednesday, stopping by my condo on his way to his apartment. Now that was a man with his priorities in order.
I kissed him good and hard as soon as I opened the door, and I didn’t care a fig that snoopy Penny George was standing on the sidewalk, watching, her mouth hanging open. I was sure she’d rat me out to my mother at their next Bible study, but being with him again was worth every moment.
Malone had the brilliant idea to move it inside and nudged me through the door and toward the bedroom, until I put the kibosh on his reunion plans, at least for the time being.
“Go brush your teeth or whatever else you need to do to freshen up,” I told him. “We’re meeting Mother and Stephen for a double date.”
“A double date?”
“Her words, not mine.”
“Who’s Stephen?”
“I’ll tell you on the way.”
“On the way to where? I thought Cissy was taking it easy.”
I brushed a lock of brown from his forehead and wiped my lip gloss from his mouth. “Would you believe the Mockingbird IHOP?” I said and shrugged. “Mother has a sudden craving for pancakes with faces on them.”
“Is she nuts?”
Ah.
Life was back to normal.
Whatever normal was.
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 husband and daughter.
Visit Susan’s website at www.SusanMcBride.com for more info.
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Praise for Susan McBride
High class hijinks and low-down murder—
Praise for the previous
DEBUTANTE DROPOUT MYSTERIES
by SUSAN McBRIDE
“I’ll read anything by Susan McBride.”
Charlaine Harris
“Kick off your Manolos and skip the cocktail hour to curl up
with Andy Kendricks, her socialite mother, and her blue blood buddies.”
Nancy Martin
“A wonderful new series with a character who is feisty without being snotty, witty but not a smart-aleck, and just plain likeable . . . Andy Kendricks’s [next] appearance can’t come soon enough.”
January magazine
“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. And for this, all mystery readers should applaud.”
Jerrilyn Farmer
“Susan McBride kept me laughing all the way through this delicious romp of a mystery.”
Tess Gerritsen
“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?) . . . In a genre where every character is the consummate pro, her plucky incompetence is refreshing.”
Thomas Perry
“Ms. McBride knows her territory. She has put together a funny, eccentric bunch of characters who bound around town with perfect manicures, big hair, and lots of social savvy. [A] hilarious romp.”
Dallas Morning News
“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)
“A totally fun ride . . . In the crowded amateur sleuth field, McBride has created a fresh new voice that fans of the genre undoubtedly will enjoy.”
Romantic Times BOOKclub
“This book has it all: suspense, humor, friendship, snobbery . . . Positively gripping.”
Sarah Strohmeyer
“As alluring as an Escada evening dress and as tempting as a slice of death-by-chocolate cake.”
Publishers Weekly
“Exciting, sassy, and filled with deliciously wicked wit, Susan McBride has created another masterpiece of a mystery that will keep you laughing long after you close the covers.”
Katie MacAlister
“Wry, dead-on social commentary masquerading as can’t-put-it-down mystery. Highly recommended for those who love to laugh.”
John Westermann
“Entertaining . . . McBride combines a healthy dose of humor, a logical plot, and more than a little class prejudice.”
Ft. Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel
“Very witty and clever . . . I, for one, can’t wait for the next installment.”
Sauce magazine (St. Louis)
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.
THE LONE STAR LONELY HEARTS CLUB. Copyright © 2006 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.
EPub Edition DECEMBER 2013 ISBN: 9780062319920
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-056408-7
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The Lone Star Lonely Hearts Club: A Debutante Dropout Mystery Page 26