Blue Blood: A Debutante Dropout Mystery (11 page)

No, no, no.

My brain swirled, searching for a way to turn this around and fast.

I had only a split second to react.

So I burst into tears.

Big, noisy theatrical tears that would’ve made Mrs. Coogan, the Hockaday drama coach, giddy with pleasure.

Through my suddenly gooey mascara, I saw Julie stop and swivel around.

“Please,” I sobbed, “you
have
to give me this job. I . . . I have no one else to go to, and I’m in trouble. Deep trouble.” The fear of being tossed out on my rear made me appear truly frantic, and the words came out in breathless gasps. “
Please.
”

“Huh?” She stood stock-still, looking more stunned than angry as she had when she’d first discovered me lurking behind the office door. She blinked, probably wondering if I was crazy and if she should call 911 rather than hearing me out. “What the blazes are y’all talking about?”

I blurted out the first thing that came into my head.
“I’m pregnant.”

I’d dazed her. “You’re . . . ?”

“Pregnant,” I repeated, hating myself for fibbing so outrageously and proud at the cleverness of my lie at the same time. “You know”—I placed my palm over my button-down fly and made as pathetic a face as I could muster—“I’m with child, got a bun in the oven, knocked up, baby on board.”

“Oh, sugar,” she sighed. “You weren’t taking antibiotics with your pills, were ya? That’s what happened to Liz Hurley.”

“Yes, yes, that’s probably what it was. And now I’m all alone and unemployed,” I rushed on, barely able to see with the clots of black sticking my lashes together. Damn that old mascara in my shoebox! It obviously wasn’t waterproof. I took some deep breaths and made sad little gulps. “My, uh, boyfriend left me for another woman, and he wants nothing to do with the child. He won’t give a dime for support, the lease is almost up, and I have nowhere to go, no money in the bank. Nothing.” My chin was actually quivering, my heart banging hard against my ribs.

Would she bite?

Or had I gone too far?

Would she kick me out, call the police?

If she did, what would I tell Molly?

That I’d failed miserably? That I was a sorry excuse for a friend?

Now I really wished I’d called Reverend Jim Bob’s prayer line.

I needed big-time help.

“I don’t know what else to do,” I sobbed, trying to blink hard and pry my congealed eyelashes apart as I waited for her to say something. Anything except “Buzz off.”

Finally, I heard a rush of air escape her lips.

“Oh, Andrea,” she cried and grabbed me in a bear hug that crushed the breath from my lungs. “You poor, poor thing. Of course, I’ll help you out. What an awful, awful boyfriend to put you out on the street when you’re in this condition.”

I could barely see, but I didn’t think anything was wrong with my hearing.

“You’ll hire me?” I squeaked, sucking in my breath, as she finally pulled away and stared at me from arm’s length.

She glanced down at my belly, which wasn’t near as flat as hers to begin with, the slight curve only helping my cause. I just prayed she wouldn’t pat it. Then she looked up at me, suddenly all business.

“How ’bout this, sugar? You can work part-time for now, which means no medical insurance or 401k, just minimum wage and tips. No maternity leave or anything like that, so you’d just better save up for Junior. And when you
really
start showing, I’ll have to move you to the kitchen. Which, in your case, might be sooner rather than later.”

My God, that sounded awful! Minimum wage? No insurance or 401k?

I nodded eagerly. “That seems fair.”

“Can you start today?”

“Today?”

“You said you’d waited tables before, so you won’t need training, right?”

“Uh-huh, that’s right.” I wondered if my nose was growing. “I’m great at waiting.” Hey, that wasn’t really a blooper. I was as patient as the next girl. I had never been especially skilled at skirting the truth. The flush in my cheeks and a slight stammer usually gave me away. Though Julie apparently mistook my ineptitude for anxiety.

“Well, at Jugs, it’s not really the best servers who get the biggest tips, if you know what I mean.” Her gaze touched on my chest, and I got the point fairly quickly. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” she said, and I realized my skills weren’t nearly as big an issue as my cup size.

“I won’t let you down . . . or Junior either,” I promised, and I settled both hands on my abdomen, because it added a nice touch.

Julie smiled benevolently.

“Let me give you the nickel tour before the crew starts to arrive.”

“Sure.”

“Just follow me. I’ll take you to the lockers first so you can change and wash your face. You can fill out your paperwork later.”

“Great.”

I planned to delay filling out any forms as long as I could.

She trotted up the hallway, babbling over her shoulder about what my schedule would be for the rest of the week, but I hardly paid attention. I glanced back at the office through sticky lashes—like gazing through spider’s legs—suddenly recalling the voice of the man she’d been arguing with. I wondered who it was. Someone involved in the business? Was it Bud’s silent partner, perhaps?

If I could just take another look at the white Lincoln and jot down the license plate, maybe Malone could have the DMV run it and solve the mystery.

“Hey, c’mon, little mama, you’re dragging your feet,” Julie called out to me loudly enough to break my train of thought.

Little mama?

Lord, if my own mother ever knew what I’d just done, she’d have my hide.

“Sorry,” I murmured and chewed my lip, tasting Paradise Plum, a flavor more akin to crayon than tropical fruit.

“This way.” She drew me into the room I’d passed earlier. She pointed at the row of yellow lockers and instructed, “Take any empty one you want. Go ahead and put away your purse and use the sink. I’ll get you a uniform.”

The infamous hot pants and cut-off shirt.

I could hardly wait.

M
irror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the scariest chick of all?

It looked like the Maybelline factory had exploded on my face.

About half the liquid soap in the dispenser by the sink disappeared before I resembled a woman and not a raccoon. I didn’t do quite as good a job replacing what I’d washed off with the meager supplies in my purse, but I didn’t care.

I was
in.

I never imagined I’d feel so giddy at the thought of waiting tables.

Once my makeup was under control, I dressed in about five minutes flat. Heck, there wasn’t much to it. I felt naked in the skimpy outfit and grimaced as I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror behind the door. The purple hot pants barely covered my fanny, and the cropped T-shirt reached just below the line of my sports bra. Julie had advised going without underwear altogether, but I nixed the idea right off the bat. Frankly, I was more opposed to being panty-less than having panty lines.

Tugging the lavender spandex down as far as it would go, I wondered how the waitresses could feel like anything but ponies led around the ring for show.

Well, this pony had a strong urge to race back to the stables.

The only thing that kept me from running was thinking of Molly and David. Otherwise, I’d be out the door faster than Seattle Slew.

If Mother had the faintest inkling of what I was up to, she’d probably lock me up in my old room—after dressing me in flannel and scrubbing my face—and summon the pastor from Highland Park Presby to exorcise the demons from my misguided soul.

The air conditioning blew cold against my skin, and I shivered, rubbing my arms to warm up.

I pictured a tearful David in my mind’s eye and reminded myself he’d be without his mommy if I didn’t do my part in getting to the truth of who killed Bud Hartman.

Somehow, the thought made wearing purple short-shorts bearable.

Julie had vanished while I’d changed, and she hadn’t yet returned, so I took the time to poke around.

A few of the lockers had combination locks to protect them. The rest were unlocked and easy to inspect. But if I’d hoped to find a bloodstained sock or a confession written in lipstick, I was sorely disappointed. Instead, all my nosing around uncovered were assorted photos—including groups of Jugs’s waitresses who all looked better in their tiny outfits than I ever would—boxes of tampons, sticks of deodorant, and bottles of perfume out the wazoo. Unfortunately, Bud had not been fatally doused with Calvin Klein’s Obsession.

“You ready?”

I jumped at the sound of Julie’s voice and slammed shut the door of the locker I’d been poking inside.

“Don’t worry about anyone taking anything,” she said, thankfully oblivious to the fact that the locker I’d been rummaging through a minute before wasn’t mine. “Bud had a strict policy against stealing. He had ways of knowing right off the bat if anyone pinched something that wasn’t hers. And he’d send ’em packing, too, just like that.” She snapped her fingers and flipped her blond head.

“Bud must’ve been a tough boss,” I said and casually squatted to tie my sneaker.

“Nobody messed with him, that’s for sure. He used to play tackle for Texas Tech.” Her eyes got dreamy all of a sudden. “Had the body of a Greek god.”

“So you must’ve had some competition.”

“What d’ya mean?” She frowned at me.

I shrugged. “Jugs has a reputation for its hot waitresses. How did you keep your leash on the guy?”

Her tiny nose tipped higher. “It’s not Bud I had to worry about. The trouble was them goin’ after him. Like Molly O’Brien.”

“She was after Bud?” I stifled the urge to shudder.

“Like a cat in heat,” Julie hissed, acting rather feline herself. “I know they had a fling, and I can’t blame him for it, not the way she was always flaunting her goods in front of him. But then it was over as fast as it started, and Bud told me that he’d had to warn her to back off more than a few times.” Her mouth puckered. “My guess is he brushed her off again, and she went psycho.”

I nearly choked on my disbelief. The idea of Molly putting the moves on Bud was ludicrous. Either Julie wore blinders or Bud had been telling her some tales tall even for a Texan.

“Bud had a real power over women, you see,” Julie explained, and a glassy look filled her eyes. “The guy had animal magnetism. He knew what he wanted in life, and he grabbed it. That power is mighty attractive. It’s what made me fall for him.” She rubbed her hands together, a little girl flush with delight. “It also made him rich and that didn’t hurt, either.”

I didn’t want to hear any more about Bud’s animal magnetism.

From what I’d learned from Molly, only the “animal” part applied.

“So business is good?” I asked her, changing the subject to something I understood all too well.

Money.

Something in her face closed off, as if she realized she’d said something she shouldn’t. She remarked simply, “Business is great.”

“And the murder won’t hurt?”

“Where’ve you been, Andrea?” She actually got my name right, though she stared at me as if I came from outer space. “You can’t pay for the kind of publicity we’ve been getting in the last twenty-four hours. It’s free advertising, even if it is because Bud died.”

She hesitated and squinted at the ceiling. For a moment, I thought she was dwelling on his untimely demise, pondering if he were in heaven.

I wanted to tell her she was gazing in the wrong direction.

Then she said, “Hmm, I might even have to add an extra waitress to each shift, maybe an extra bartender, too. I wonder if we should extend our hours? I should probably call our vendors and order more supplies. Definitely more booze . . .”

“Julie?”

Yeesh, did she have ADD?

“Hey.” I waved a hand in front of her to remind her I was there.

“The nickel tour?”

“Oh, yeah.” She grabbed hold of my arm. “Lemme show you the kitchen first. That’s where it happened, you know.”

I let her draw me along and marveled at how she’d bounced back so quickly from the death of her lover.

And Bud not even as cold as the beer on tap.

T
he deserted kitchen of a half hour ago now percolated with people and noises. A crew of men and women in aprons and hairnets buzzed about, their animated voices rising above the hiss of steaming pots and the clang of pans on the grills. It didn’t take a lip reader to realize what they were talking about.

They quieted instantly as Julie and I entered, their smiles replaced by taut mouths and serious expressions. A dark-skinned woman stepped away from the others and haltingly approached.

“We’re all very sorry about Mr. Hartman,” she said, though I didn’t see a damp eye in the house. “We’re a little surprised you wanted to reopen so soon.” She paused, her brown features bemused. “Anyway, if there’s anything we can do?”

“Thanks, Tasha, but I’m okay,” Julie replied, a vague tremor in her voice. “Bud would’ve wanted us to go on without him. Business as usual, that’s what he’d say.”

Well, Julie was doing a fine job of that, I mused. I’d already gotten the picture she was one cool customer, though I wondered just how cool. Did she have enough ice in her veins to stab her boyfriend and then go on as if nothing had happened? And what would she have gotten out of it beyond the satisfaction of offing an unfaithful lover? Was there money involved? A piece of the restaurant?

I’d have to keep tabs on her, that’s for sure. I’d already gotten the impression that there was more to Julie Costello than frosted blue eye shadow and Heather Locklear’s hairdo. She played the “dumb blonde” to perfection, but how much of it was an act to get what she wanted? Because I’ll wager she didn’t have much of a problem in that department.

“Everyone, this is Andrea,” she announced. “Our new waitress.”

My cheeks warmed as all eyes fell upon me, and I wished I’d had a towel to wrap around my half-naked self.

I did a soggy Princess Di wave.

But everyone was already turning away.

“Nice to meet you, too,” I muttered to their backs.

“See the window there? That’s where you’ll pick up your orders.” Julie tapped my arm and next pointed out the refrigerator that held extra tea if they ran out at the wait station, more jugs for beer, and the storeroom with ample supplies of napkins, condiments, and more.