Blue Blood: A Debutante Dropout Mystery (23 page)

Considering that I was one of those “poor half-naked women,” at least for the time being, I couldn’t argue with her about the leers. Still, she was avoiding my question about Sarah Carter by filling my head with her Mothers Against Porn rhetoric. Maybe I even agreed with her, but that’s not why I was here.

“Do you know if Bud sexually assaulted any of the waitresses?” I went straight for the jugular, fairly sure at this point that’s why Peggy despised him. “If that’s the case, maybe one of them had wanted him dead . . . and went through with it. Maybe someone like Sarah.”

Her face shut off.

Like a bank safe locking. I swear I heard the click.

Her eyes cooled, her expression strangely stoic as she told me, “If you’re trying to pin the blame on Sarah for Bud’s death, you’re barking up the wrong tree. She wasn’t even in Dallas when it happened. She was long gone by then.”

So she did know something.

Far more than she’d told me.

Maybe Sarah had sought refuge at the clinic after suffering at Bud’s hands. Had Peggy Martin and her staff sheltered her? Helped her move?

So where was she now?

And why was Peggy Martin protecting her so fiercely?

“Please, tell me where Sarah is, and I’ll ask her myself.” I sounded desperate, but I didn’t care. Molly was counting on me, and all I kept turning up were more and more people who seemed pleased as punch that Bud was mincemeat. I could do eeny-meeny-miney-mo and land on someone who had the motive and means to have stabbed him. “Maybe Sarah could give me some answers that would lead me to the real killer.”

Peggy shook her head. “I can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“She’s been taken advantage of enough already.” She sliced a hand across the air and stated emphatically, “
No more.
” With that, she turned away and shuffled toward the door. She grabbed the handle and jerked it open. When she looked back at me, all the fight had gone out of her face. “I think you’d better go.”

The last thing I wanted to do was to give up and leave. I’d had every intention of leaving the Wellness Clinic with Sarah Carter’s new address, but instead I was being kicked out before Nurse Peggy had spilled the beans.

I’d seriously flunked the Jessica Fletcher test. My questions hadn’t elicited any gut-spilling confession. Why wasn’t real life ever like television?

Peggy Martin cleared her throat and tapped the watch at her wrist. “I have patients to see, Ms. Kendricks. I’m asking you to leave so I can do my job.”

“Only if you’ll think about what I’ve said.”

She sighed. “If it will make you go away.”

Well, that was good enough for me.

I got up from the stool, hiked my purse over my shoulder, and aimed for the door.

Our eyes met as I passed her on my way out, and I realized I’d gotten from her all I was going to get, at least for now.

Still, I wasn’t backing down.

I couldn’t.

As I crawled into my steamy Jeep, I told myself to think like a detective.

What would Nancy do?
I asked, not for the first time. If Bess and Ned were busy, no doubt she’d talk to her dad.

But since my father wasn’t around, that left only one option.

Cissy.

An involuntary groan escaped my lips.

What could I possibly say to my mother after the show she’d put on last night? I had half a mind to critique her performance, and the rest of me figured I owed her an apology for embarrassing the Blevins and Kendricks alike by wearing lavender hot pants.

I cringed as I imagined the story she’d tell her socialite chums at her next bridge game at the Junior League. . . .

Hold on a dad-gummed minute.

Cissy’s chums.

Mother and her cronies helped to organize charity events to raise money for women’s health issues ranging from breast cancer to varicose veins, dealing with muckety-mucks at hospitals and clinics across the metroplex.

If anyone could dig up the dirt on Peggy Martin, R.N., and the Wellness Clinic, she could. It could be her encore performance. Lady Snoop’s Grand Finale.

I checked my watch and realized I had more than an hour before I had to show up at Jugs for my shift, so I put the Jeep into drive, cranked up the AC and cruised toward Buckingham Palace.

A
fter a slight change in plans, I ended up in Highland Park Village, near the intersection of Mockingbird and Douglas.

I’d called Mother’s on my cell to warn Sandy I was on my way, only to be told that Cissy had buckled David into the leather passenger seat of her Lexus and had taken him to Paciugo Gelato for ice cream.

Stop the presses!

Can you blame me for dropping the phone in sheer astonishment and nearly running a stop sign while reaching down for it between my feet?

Cissy Blevins Kendricks buying David a gelato?

The woman didn’t know a Popsicle from a drumstick.

Andy, Andy, Andy.

Okay, I was a wee bit jealous, I’ll admit. When I was a girl, I would’ve killed to have Cissy whisk me off for an ice cream. But she’d always been too busy with her garden clubs, church meetings, and charity events. If it hadn’t been for Sandy, I never would’ve seen the inside of a Baskin-Robbins.

Still, it didn’t take long for the envy to ebb and for real pleasure to set in. The more I thought about what my mother had done, the wider I grinned.

Maybe Cissy was truly getting into the swing of things, even feeling charitable toward Molly. Despite all the fuss she’d put up in the beginning.

I parked in the shadows of the Regent Highland Park Theater, perspiration dampening my skin despite the short walk into the air-conditioned building. Paciugo Gelato was in the downstairs foyer of the theater, and, judging by the number of people milling about, fiercely studying the selection of thirty-two rotating flavors, it was probably the most popular place in town on this hot, humid day.

I spotted Mother and David easily enough.

As odd a couple as Felix and Oscar.

Cissy had on bright yellow, one of her new Ralph Lauren ensembles, her pale hair perfectly brushed off her face and enormous pearl clips at her ears. Her young male companion wore a Harley-Davidson T-shirt, one of the spares Maria had stuffed into his knapsack. It’s a wonder Mother had let him out of the house in it.

I found an empty chair and dragged it over.

Cissy glanced up, plucked brows arching deliberately as she remarked, “Well, look who’s here. And she’s got all her clothes on.”

I gave her the evil eye and turned to David. “Whatcha eating, buddy?”

David poked his plastic spoon into his cup and brought up a dripping mess for me to see. “It’s Cookies ’n Milk. That’s the kind of ice cream.”

“No, honey, it’s gelato,” Cissy corrected, brushing his bangs from his forehead and ignoring my surprised look. “That’s Italian for ‘better than ice cream.’ ”

“Yeah, better,” he echoed and stuck the loaded spoon in his mouth.

“You doing okay?” I asked him, and his head bobbed up and down. I glanced at my mother, who nodded as well.

“David’s been a very brave boy,” she said. “Haven’t you, sweetie?”

He beamed at her, then turned his head to say excitedly, “Cissy’s takin’ me to a movie.”

I set my purse in my lap and propped my chin up with a fist. Otherwise, my jaw would’ve dropped to the ground “You’re kidding. Which one?”

“Something about a yo-yo and LifeSavers,” Mother drawled.

Which set David to giggling. “Yoda, not yo-yo!”

“And I think you mean light sabers,” I teased her.

“Of course.” A smile twitched on her perfectly painted lips.

“You’re seeing the latest
Star Wars
?” I could hardly believe it myself. “I practically have to call a tow to drag you with me to the Magnolia for an art film.”

“The child wanted to go, and Sandy had some work to do for me.” She shrugged casually, toying with the remains of her lemon gelato that, not surprisingly, matched her suit.

I squinted my eyes and peered at her closely. “So who are you and what’ve you done with my mother?”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Are you channeling Mary Poppins?”

“Hush, Andrea, you’re setting a bad example for the boy.” Mother stole a glance at David, who alternated between slurping down gelato and coloring on a tablet with a set of brand-new crayons. “After the show, I thought I’d take him to Harold’s to get a few things.”

“How about Baby Gap,” I suggested. Did Harold’s even have stuff for kids? Mother was a tad out of her element where children’s clothing was concerned. When I was little, I’d been dressed strictly in Florence Eiseman from Marshall Field’s.

“Baby Gap? They don’t have Harley shirts, do they?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Good.” She put a little spit on a napkin and worked some gelato off David’s chin.

I watched, amazed.

If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it.

The six-year-old son of “that scholarship girl” had wrapped Cissy Blevins Kendricks, queen of Dallas Society, snugly around his little finger.

I was tempted to phone “Ripley’s.”

I couldn’t wait to tell Molly.

“Why don’t you join us for the picture show, Andrea?”

David looked up at me eagerly.

“I wish I could, but I’ve got an early shift . . .”—oh, hell. I cut myself off cold.

“An early shift?” Cissy stared. I could see what was coming, but I just couldn’t stop it. “At Jugs?”

I placed a hand over hers, checking to make sure David had gone back to his drawing. I lowered my voice. “I’m begging you. Stay out of this.”

With her free hand, she patted mine, and it scared me, the way she smiled. “Why should you have all the fun, darling? You’re not the only Kendricks who can be rebellious now and then.”

“Mother,”
I groaned. Rebellious to Cissy meant carrying a handbag from last season.

“I’m concerned about you, Andrea, that’s all.” She let go of my hand. “Mr. Malone understands that, the nice man. Which reminds me, I hear you’re going to dinner with him tonight, yes?”

“As a matter of fact, I am”—How did she know? I hadn’t let it slip, not even to Sandy—“but that has nothing to do with the case.”

“Doesn’t it?” She touched a pearl earring, a smug little gesture that told me plenty.

My spine went rigid. “Mother, you didn’t.”

“Didn’t what, sweetie?”

“You
did
,” I hissed under my breath, glancing over to make sure David had lost interest. His crayons were in motion, thank goodness.

“You called Brian.”

“He’s with the firm, darling. I often have occasion to discuss legal matters with my attorneys.”

“With Malone?”

“Settle down, for heaven’s sake. Don’t make a fuss. Yes, I’ve spoken with Mr. Malone now and then. He has a fine legal mind,” she drawled. “J.D. has great faith in him, and he’s often remarked about his potential in criminal defense.”

My throat closed up. I nearly had to shield my eyes from this epiphany. It blinded me more than those halogen headlamps.

No, don’t even think of it, Andy.

Even Mother wouldn’t go that far.

Would she?

“Please, please, don’t tell me this was a setup from the start,” I croaked, the words struggling to come out because I didn’t want them to be true. “Tell me you didn’t have J.D. send Malone to the North Dallas substation to take Molly’s case because you wanted me to meet him.”

Her hands primly went to her lap. “I merely inquired if he was available.”

I groaned, dropping my head in my hands. “Oh, God, I can’t believe this! You used a homicide as an excuse for a blind date!”

“Well, he’s taking you out tonight, sweetie, so it must’ve worked.”

I peeled my fingers from my face, feeling the heat of my skin, trying to take a deep breath and keep any words I’d regret from spilling from my lips.

Cissy daintily spooned gelato into her mouth, then leaned over to whisper something to David.

He giggled and glanced at me before turning back to his artwork.

I tried not to glare at them both.

“I can’t believe it,” I muttered and started to get up, ready to stomp off, thinking I’d call Brian on my cell and cancel our date this evening, tell him to forget about Molly and find someone else to represent her, until it struck me that he was as much a pawn as I.

I’ll wager he didn’t have a clue about Cissy’s plot to throw us together.

We’d both been duped.

Poor bastard.

He couldn’t understand what he was up against.

Sighing, I settled back into the chair. I couldn’t walk out on my mother, not yet. “In between trying to run the world—or, at least, my life—could you do something for me?”

“Besides babysitting?” she said innocently.

“Yes, besides that.” I tried not to be testy. Begging for favors from Cissy was an art, and tone of voice was an important part of that. Ever so sweetly, I asked, “Could you check into the Women’s Wellness Clinic on Walnut Hill Lane?”

“Are you sick?” Her brow crinkled.

“No, I’m not sick.” I brushed her hand away from my forehead. “See if the name Sarah Carter comes up. Also, pretty please, could you find out about a nurse named Peggy Martin? She apparently runs the clinic and she’s also the leader of the Mothers Against Pornography. They’ve been protesting outside Jugs recently.”

“Ah, yes, MAP,” she remarked.

“Do you know much about them”—I paused, feeling my eyelid start to twitch—“besides pretending to be a card-carrying member last night? Because I’d like to learn more about what they’ve done in the past.”

“For your information, Buffy Winspear asked me to chair a musical fundraiser with her called
Rap for MAP,
about a year ago or so,” Mother drawled, always one step ahead. “She was negotiating with a fellow named Puffy to appear, but I was doing a gala for GLAD at the time . . .”

“The gay and lesbian group?”

“No, honey.” She let loose a throaty chuckle. “The Golden Ladies Alliance of Dallas. They’re an organization of women over sixty who knit caps for the homeless.”

“Ah.”

How did I ever spring from this woman’s womb?