Blue Blood: A Debutante Dropout Mystery (13 page)

The woman in the pink scrubs looked familiar. Wasn’t she one of the protestors I’d seen on last evening’s news?

With a fist, she pounded on the glass, her voice too garbled by the glass for me to hear, and then strong hands drew her back and away.

“Thank God,” Julie said when the woman was no longer visible. “I’d hate to have to call the police to haul her off. It might scare the customers.”

And then she brushed past me toward the doors, keys jangling in her hand, preparing to let the lions into the Coliseum.

My chest clenched, and I tried to breathe, praying I’d make it through my serving debut without spilling beer or splitting my hot pants at the seams.

A
t the end of my shift, I nearly collapsed on the locker room floor.

I smelled like beer and French fries, and my feet—and the rest of me—ached for a soak in the tub. I’d had enough men call me “sweetheart,” “babe,” and “honey” to last me a lifetime. Two of my customers had suggested I meet them later for drinks (I’d politely declined). Still, it hadn’t been as bad as I’d imagined, just so busy that I barely had time to breathe. I only mixed up one order and dropped an iced tea on the floor, barely a blip on the disaster meter.

My tips amounted to a hardly stellar hundred and twenty bucks, which I planned to put aside for Molly. I thought it might come in handy after she was released from jail and looking for work. Because I knew she wouldn’t come back to Jugs. And I couldn’t say that I blamed her.

I gratefully turned over my station to a woman on the dinner shift who introduced herself as Tiffany. With even less regret, I changed out of the tiny shorts and into my blue jeans. Tight as they were, at least they covered my skin.

Julie caught me on my way out the door.

“Bud’s memorial service is tomorrow morning at ten,” she said and grasped my arm so that I could go nowhere until she’d finished. “It’s at the Church of Perpetual Hope in Plano. It’d mean a lot to me if you could come.”

“Julie, I . . .”

I hardly know you and mercifully never knew Bud
, I wanted to say, but she wasn’t about to take “no” for an answer.

“I felt this instant connection with you, Andrea,” she insisted, though I was skeptical about that since it took her a while to get my name straight.

“Uh, I’m not sure I can . . .”

“Great!” she cut off my stammering too fast for me to finish. “So I’ll see you at ten sharp? And you, too, Junior,” she added, leaning over to address my belly button.

Ugh.

“See you in the morning.” She smiled and gave me an offhanded wave as she headed toward the dining room.

I stood and watched her as she sashayed toward a group of men in soccer shirts obviously high on hops.

Why me?

The last place I wanted to be the next morning was at a memorial service for Bud Hartman at the Church of Perpetual Hope, which didn’t sound like any church I’d ever heard of before anyway.

Wait a minute.

I did know of the place.

Well, I’d seen the name, along with the number for the prayer hotline. On the local religious channel with Reverend Jim Bob and Violet Hair, the pair that begged me to send money to save my soul (which might not have been a bad idea). I always wondered if those who did cut a check were sent bumper stickers that declared,
WHO SAYS YOU CAN
’
T BUY YOUR WAY INTO HEAVEN
?

It made me glad to be Presbyterian.

I headed out of Jugs and into twilight. A host of macho cars, mostly SUVs and pickup trucks, filled the parking slots around the restaurant. Across the shopping center, the Zuma Beach Club had switched on its bright pink and blue neon sign. A dozen cars lined up out front, though the place wouldn’t be swinging for another couple of hours.

My Jeep sat around the corner, and I sighed happily when I reached it.

As I unlocked the door and yanked it wide, a hand clamped down on my shoulder from behind.

I spun around, my heart thumping.

It was the woman in pink from Mothers Against Pornography. The one Julie had called the Wicked Witch.

“Geez, Louise!” I exhaled sharply. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, “but if I don’t catch you girls with a surprise attack, you’ll break out into a run.”

“I see what you mean.”

Even with the falling light, there was sadness in her face that the dusk couldn’t hide. With her close-cut gray hair and deeply shadowed eyes, she looked to be in her fifties. Though she may have been younger, and a hard life had left its mark on her features like water carving stone.

“Can I help you with something?” I asked. Nothing about her threatened me in the least, and I wondered why Julie seemed fearful of her.

“I was hoping I could help you,” she said and touched my arm gently. “There are other places to work, you know. Places that don’t exploit women and treat them as objects. I could steer you in another direction.”

Steer me in another direction?

Oh, dear. Part of me wanted to laugh, wanted to tell her that she’d cornered the wrong person. I wondered what she might say if she heard the truth, that I was merely a mild-mannered web designer playing a role in order to bail out a friend.

“Honestly, I don’t think . . .”

“You seem like a bright girl,” she cut me off and leaned nearer. “I could get you a job in an office where you didn’t have to wear a skimpy outfit or get pawed by the wolves. It might not pay as much, but it would be honest work.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t have much choice at the moment,” I told her, feeling too pooped to hang around in the parking lot being lectured by a stranger, no matter how well intentioned. Inching my way into the driver’s seat, I told her, “Don’t worry about me, this is only temporary.”

“That’s what you say now.” Her voice softened in the fading light. “But even one night of degradation is too much. I’m sure your own mother would agree with me, wouldn’t she? Does she even know where you are?”

Perish the thought.

“I’m sorry.” I was too tired for this. It was like an argument with Cissy that I was never going to win. “Excuse me, please, but I have to go.”

I tried to close the car door, but she had her hand on it, holding it open.

She stuck her hand into a pocket of her smock. “Please consider what I’ve said.”

“I will.”

But before I could shut myself in, she reached inside and pushed a bit of paper at me. Then she hurried away, across the parking lot.

I locked the door and flipped on the overhead light to find a business card in my lap.
THE WOMEN
’
S WELLNESS CLINIC
, it read in discreet black script, listing an address and phone number. At the bottom, there was the name,
PEGGY MARTIN
,
R
.
N
.

The ringleader of the Mothers Against Pornography was a nurse at a clinic?

For an instant I panicked, thinking Julie had let it slip that I’d said I was pregnant, and somehow this Peggy Martin had gotten wind of it. Was that why she’d singled me out tonight? To rescue me and my make-believe baby? Or was it just that I was fresh meat?

I glanced out the window, but she was gone already.

Fresh meat,
I decided.

I took a deep breath and settled down, stabbing the key into the ignition.

As Malone said, I had a vivid imagination.

I started the car, shifted into reverse, and maneuvered out of the increasingly crowded parking lot. I aimed the Jeep toward home, determined to wash up and change before I headed down to Mother’s to see David.

The light on my Caller ID blinked incessantly as I walked through the door. I dialed my voice mail and listened as the messages played, wedging the handset against my collarbone as I loosened the laces on my high-tops and struggled out of my jeans.

Brian Malone rattled on about the final autopsy report being filed and Bud’s body being released for cremation.

“Old news,” I said aloud and smirked at the telephone, feeling smug that I knew where and when Bud’s memorial service would be held, wondering what Malone would think if he learned I’d actually been invited to attend by the deceased’s girlfriend.

“. . . I don’t trust you, Andy. You’re up to something, though I’m not sure what,” he said before he ran over the limit and cut himself off.

I pulled off my T-shirt and plucked the shoulder pads from my running bra, a little disappointed to see the cotton cups deflate so quickly.

A couple messages from clients followed Brian’s. After that, two hang ups and then a strained voice with a crisp accent.

Hurriedly tucking a clean shirt into a pair of striped sweatpants, I held the receiver nearer to hear whatever sounded so urgent.

“. . . it’s Maria Rameriz calling for Andrea . . . a social worker was at the apartment today asking about
el niño
. . .”

My limbs went numb.

“. . . I told her I didn’t know anything about where the boy was taken and that probably someone from Molly’s
familia
had picked him up . . .”

Dear God.

“. . . maybe that will be that.”

I dropped into the nearest chair, weak at the knees.

If I had left David with Maria, would he have been taken away to a foster home? Would Molly’s worst fears have come true? What would I have told her then? She would have come apart at the seams.

I exhaled slowly, silently thanking my lucky stars that David was safely at Mother’s. If, by chance, that social worker tracked down the boy’s whereabouts, I knew Cissy would wave her magic wand and take care of things as she always did.

Though, as it stood, I already owed her.

Big.

I headed to the bathroom to wash off the mask of makeup from my skin, turning my white washcloth muddy in the process. After I’d scrunched my hair into a ponytail, I studied my face in the mirror and smiled as I recognized the girl who stared back. I felt like Dorothy returning to Kansas.

It took nearly twenty minutes to reach Mother’s house on Beverly Drive. By then, the sky had lost all traces of pink and had settled into a deep navy sprinkled liberally with stars.

The lights glowed cheerfully in the windows as I pulled into the curving drive and parked in front of the door with its guardian lions.

When I entered the house, I pricked my ears at a noise I hadn’t heard within these walls in quite a while. Not since Daddy died.

Laughter.

A boy’s high-pitched squeal and a woman’s throaty chuckle.

Dropping my purse on the bench by the stairwell, I gravitated toward the pleasant sounds and ended up in the kitchen.

I hesitated in the doorway for a moment, simply watching as Sandy and David played cards on the glass-topped table. A bucket of the Colonel’s finest had been pushed to one side as had plates heaped with chicken bones and half-eaten mounds of mashed potatoes. Various red-and-white-striped containers and plastic lids were scattered about the green marble countertop. A sight I likely wouldn’t see again in my lifetime.

So I soaked it in.

Leaning my shoulder against the jamb, I observed their goings-on with such delight that a shiver rippled through me. Memories rose to the surface, of long ago nights when Mother and Daddy had gone out, leaving me with Sandy to play game after game of Go Fish until well past my bedtime. I had loved every minute.

“Well, look who’s here.”

Sandy pushed away from the table and came toward me, arms extended.

“Hon, you’re worn out,” she said and pulled me into a rose-scented hug.

“I am that.” My reply was muffled by her shoulder. “It’s been a long day,” I told her as she drew away, though I left out the details. I don’t think she’d have been any less displeased than Mother to hear what I’d been doing.

“We’ve had a rather busy day ourselves,” she remarked, her gaze shifting to David, who was gathering up their cards into a neat pile. “Cissy arranged for us to go to the zoo this afternoon.”

“You’re kidding.” I nearly choked on the words. It was pretty hard to image my mother at the zoo in her expensive pumps and Chanel suit. “
Arranged
being the key word, I presume? She didn’t actually feed the elephants?”

“Oh, heavens, can you imagine that?” Sandy grinned. “No, it was just me and the kiddo.” She glanced over my shoulder at David, now shuffling the cards at the table. “Cissy set up a private tour of the nursery, actually. David gave a baby chimp its bottle. It was truly amazing.”

“Amazing,” I repeated and felt my posture change as I said it. “Mother does have a knack for that, doesn’t she?”

“Cissy is a wonder.”

Mother did know how to make things happen, as Sandy had pointed out, though she didn’t often do them quietly. She rather enjoyed being appreciated for her generous acts. I think a part of my mother was a frustrated actress who craved the spotlight and applause.

Only Joan Crawford had done Mother even better than Mother could. Though I’d never been yelled at for using wire hangers. Actually, I don’t think I’d ever seen a wire hanger in the house.

I went to the table and sat down across from David. “What’s your game, bud? Gin? Five-card stud? Twenty-one?” I asked, and he gave me a curious look.

He paused thoughtfully, then said, “Go Fish.”

“Well, deal the cards, kid. But I have to warn you, you’re facing the unofficial Go Fish champion of Beverly Drive.”

Sandy laughed. “Unofficial is right.”

“Are we on?” I slapped my palms on the table.

David blinked his wide eyes and nodded. He chewed on his lip as he concentrated on dealing out the cards.

“Careful, David,” Sandy said as she began clearing their plates. “She’s a real shark.”

“I was taught by the best.” I looked up at her and winked. Sandy’s face wrinkled with pleasure.

“Can I get you something to eat, Andy? We’ve got a few pieces of chicken left and some corn and mashed potatoes. I can heat them up in the microwave.”

“No, thanks. I’m fine.” I didn’t tell her I’d eaten at Jugs on a ten-minute break. A greasy burger and fries that sat heavily in my stomach.