Blue Blood: A Debutante Dropout Mystery (30 page)

On the way to my place, Brian let me have it. He ranted on about my ill-advised involvement in the case and how I should never have trailed Jim Bob to the motel alone. I sat there and took it until he parked in front of my unit—right beside my resurrected Jeep—when he finally stopped to draw a breath.

At which point, I leaned over and pressed my finger to his lips.

“Zip it,” I ordered.

He looked hard at me, ruffled hair falling onto his brow, his glasses slightly askew. “But, Andy,” he tried to protest, only to find my entire palm over his mouth.

It was my turn.

“I’m going inside, where I’m taking off this dreadful outfit and these shoes that pinch my toes, then I’m soaking in a bathtub until the past week is a memory. Oh, and I’ll watch a little TV when I’m done.” I thought of the
MAP
videotape inside my purse that Cinda Lou Mitchell had kindly provided. “And I will not answer my phone, so don’t even try calling me. I need peace and quiet.”

That said, I turned to grab the door handle, but he caught my wrist.

“If Jim Bob really murdered two men, you got lucky last night, you know. He could’ve killed you, Andy.”

Where had I heard that before? He was beginning to sound an awful lot like my mother.

My eyes slid back to his, and I did my best to smile, though it faltered more than I would’ve liked. “Hey, I’m okay. And Molly’s going to be even better than that soon, right? Oh, geez, and David will be ecstatic.”

He reached out to tuck a thumb beneath my chin, and I felt warm in all the right places. “Promise me that your detecting days are over. You took a lot of foolish risks in the name of friendship, and, while I admire your chutzpah, I hope you never do anything as ludicrous as that again.”

I blinked, not feeling warm all over anymore.

Just hot under the collar.

I knew I’d think of something brilliant to say later, but, for now, I couldn’t even form the smallest word on my tied tongue. Instead, I inched away from him, let myself out, and slammed the door with such force that the Acura rocked.

“Andy!”

“Stuff it,” I shouted over my shoulder.

He opened his window and yelled after me as I hurried up the sidewalk to my condo, but I didn’t turn around.

Once inside, I peered through the drapes to find Malone still sitting in the car, right where I’d left him, and frustration swept through me.

Your detecting days are over. Foolish. Ludicrous.

What had he expected me to do, for God’s sake?

Stay home, eating bonbons and sipping tea, watching soap operas, and putting this silly murder investigation out of my pretty head while Molly was still locked up?

Not a chance.

Didn’t he realize I was the girl who’d bucked the system (his own words)? Who’d given up her deb ball because her heart wasn’t in it and who’d squashed her mother’s dreams by going to art school in Chicago?

If he didn’t understand that I’d never be the kind of woman who colored inside the lines, then he wasn’t the man I’d hoped he was.

He finally drove away in a screech of tires, and I let the curtains drop.

Hey, my relationship with Malone had lasted longer than some of my blind dates, I mused, trying to cheer myself up.

But the thought didn’t make me feel better.

A
soak in the tub with my favorite Crabtree & Evelyn bath gel, Lily of the Valley, might’ve made me smell like something that bloomed in Mother’s garden, but it didn’t do much to improve my mood. I was still upset with Malone and had an unsettled feeling in my stomach about Bud’s murder, Jim Bob Barker, and Sarah. Something still didn’t fit, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

My hair wrapped in a towel, I plunked down on my sofa to watch the videotape Cissy had retrieved from Cinda Lou Mitchell. It was a compilation of Mothers Against Porn protests that Cinda’s station had covered in the previous year or so, beginning with a parade of marches against strip clubs, anywhere from a dozen to fifty women holding placards and chanting things like, “Clean Up Our City, Sweep Up Smut!” Peggy Martin was always among them, leading the troops.

The tape was twenty minutes long, and I nearly turned it off halfway through. Until something I saw made me sit up. I turned the sound up and listened to Cinda Lou chatter about a protest outside a peep show near Love Field. She noted in a brief follow-up that the group was successful in getting the place closed down.

I stopped and played the tape again at least three times before I hit the pause and froze it on a single frame.

The Mothers Against Porn stood in front of a small building with a neon sign shaped like a pair of legs that shimmered pink. The name of the club flickered off and on.

NUDE
’
N NAUGHTY
.

Fred Hicks had been found in his car, parked at that very spot.

The synapses in my brain started firing off in rapid succession.

One question in particular I couldn’t shake.

What if Jim Bob Barker didn’t kill Bud or go after Fred Hicks? What if it was someone else? Someone who had a beef against Bud and who had access to insulin?

Oh, crap, had I pegged the wrong person?

Was it possible Jim Bob was innocent? Okay, not as in “pure as the driven snow,” but at least not guilty of stabbing Bud Hartman.

My doubts nipping at my heels, I scrambled from the couch and into the bathroom to toss off the terrycloth turban. I grabbed my blow dryer and fixed my hair in two minutes flat. My eyes still sore from the pepper spray, I left my glasses on and didn’t bother with makeup. I pulled on faded jeans and a multicolored Lycra Tee, grabbed the videotape and my handbag, and rushed out the door as my phone started ringing.

On the drive, my mind kept going over everything I’d seen and heard, looking for a telling moment that would assure me I was doing the right thing.

But I didn’t have any proof, just my instincts.

I had to talk to Peggy Martin.

Once I arrived, I didn’t do anything but try to remain unobtrusive. I sat in the Jeep outside the Women’s Wellness Clinic for nearly half an hour in the shade of an oak tree. Though I had my windows rolled down, the afternoon heat was uncomfortable to say the least. Sweat dampened the hair at my neck and stuck my clothing to my skin.

I waited to make my move, until the time was right.

I watched people come and go through the front door, and I stayed put until the parking lot emptied out at noon and the security guard took a break, going off around the side of the building for a smoke.

Now.

Just as I was about to get out of the car, my cell phone chirped loudly.

I snatched it from my bag and snapped, “Mother, I can’t talk . . .”

“It’s Malone . . . please, don’t hang up.”

I nearly did. “I’m busy, Brian, so don’t . . .”

“I’m at the D.A.’s office,” he ran over my protest. “The crime lab techs are enhancing the tape from the locker room, and they’re convinced the unidentified person is a woman, not a man. It’s definitely not Jim Bob Barker, because he’s over six feet, and they figure this person is five feet six at the most.”

“I could’ve told you that,” I snapped, still steamed.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “What aren’t you telling me?”

No more games, I decided. So I stopped playing coy. “I’m at the Women’s Wellness Clinic to see Peggy Martin one more time. I think she murdered Bud,” I told him. “And tried to kill Hicks, too.”

“What?” I held the phone away from my ear.

“She’s a nurse, Brian. She has access to syringes and insulin, and even latex gloves and surgical garb. She could’ve done it all without leaving a clue.”

“Andy, you need to go home. Let the police handle it from here on out.”

“You’d still be twiddling your thumbs while Molly rotted away in Lew Sterrett if I hadn’t been involved,” I reminded him, wondering why I’d ever thought he’d see my side of things when he was so obviously nearsighted.

“Twiddling my thumbs? What I’m doing is working within the system, which is how it’s got to be from this point forward. So let it go. I’ll call Lindstrom and get someone down there . . .”

I had too much on my mind to argue.

“Goodbye, Malone.”

I pushed “end” and returned the cell to my purse.

Then I took a deep breath, hopped down from the Jeep, squared my shoulders, and strode across the parking lot.

“Can I help you?” The receptionist glanced up from her desk as I entered. She was not the same woman I’d seen the day before.

“It’s all right, Jackie. I’ll take care of her.”

Peggy Martin appeared in the doorway behind the front desk.

“Go get a cup of coffee,” she urged the young woman. “It’s a slow afternoon.”

The receptionist eagerly took her up on her offer and scurried off.

I didn’t see another soul. The waiting room was deserted.

“I know why you’re here,” Peggy said, the face framed by the gray cap of hair wearing a resigned expression. She didn’t look menacing, merely sad, and I couldn’t imagine she’d ever hurt me.

Without another word, she motioned that I follow her, and I went. She led me back to the same empty examination room where we’d chatted the day before. Very deliberately this time, she closed the door.

I heard the soft click of the lock and the noisy shuffle of her feet on the floor as she took a couple steps toward me.

“You’ve found out, haven’t you?” she said before I’d opened my mouth. “You’ve learned that Sarah is my daughter.”

“I’m not the only one who’s aware of that, Peggy.” I set my purse on the countertop, beside the boxes of disposable supplies—tongue depressors, thermometer covers, latex gloves, and plastic syringes. I saw something else I hadn’t noticed before in the corner. A locked cabinet filled with medicine. “The police found videotapes and recording equipment at Bud’s condo,” I informed her. “They have computer files he kept with names and dates. Sarah’s on the list.”

“But those tapes . . . they were destroyed.” Peggy’s skin appeared so white against her navy blue scrubs. “He turned them over to her, and she burned them.”

So Peggy had known about the tapes? Why hadn’t she told the police from the start?

Now I was confused. “Why would he do that? He wasn’t the kind of man who did good deeds.”

“Because I”—her chin trembled—“I threatened to destroy him, if he didn’t. I swore I’d kill, burn the restaurant down, whatever it took. He was ruining her life. God knows how many other lives he wrecked as well.”

She’d trusted Bud to do right by Sarah?

I wanted to laugh. She couldn’t possibly be that naïve. I’d never met Bud Hartman, but I already knew he was a habitual liar and a blackmailing cheat.

“They’ve collected the surveillance equipment from the bedroom at Bud’s home and from the locker room at Jugs.”

“The locker room?”

That threw her for a loop. She wavered, but caught the edge of the countertop to steady herself.

So she hadn’t known, not about the camera at the restaurant.

I didn’t want to do this, but I had no choice.

“They’re going over the evidence now,” I told her. “Especially the tape from the night of the murder. There’s someone on it . . . someone besides Molly, which proves she wasn’t the last one who saw Bud. They know it was a woman.” I forced myself to look in her panicked eyes. “Molly didn’t kill him, Ms. Martin. But that’s no surprise to you.”

“A tape . . . from that night?” she echoed.

“Made by a digital camera with infrared lighting so even darkness is as clear as day.”

She swayed again. “They’ve seen . . . everything?”

I didn’t answer. I wanted her to believe it.

Faking a calm I didn’t feel, I asked, “Why don’t you tell me about Sarah and Bud? If I understand what happened, maybe I can help you.”

“Oh, God,” Peggy said, voice cracking, a rush of tears skidding down her cheeks. “You can’t imagine what she went through, you can’t begin to know. It crushed her when she found out what he’d done. That he’d filmed them together and was selling tapes of them on the web. She begged him not to, and he just laughed at her. Told her it was all in fun. Can you imagine? All in fun.” She spat out the words, hatred filling her eyes, brighter than tears.

We stood barely five feet apart in the tiny exam room, the smell of disinfectant surrounding us. A small shiver tickled my spine, but I refused to be afraid of Peggy Martin. I honestly didn’t believe I was in danger. She looked so benign, standing there in her dark scrubs, nametag pinned to her breast, tears in her eyes, devastated.

She started to pace, and the rustle of her steps on the floor drew my gaze down to her feet.

Oh, man.

I flashed back to the freeze frame on the TV, the figure in a baseball cap and dark clothes, and those odd-looking shoes, like slippers.

She paused suddenly and saw what I was staring at.

“We had in-patient surgeries this morning. I’d forgotten to remove them. Do they bother you?” She gestured down at the protective booties covering her sneakers.

Did they bother me?

I shook my head numbly.

It was all there, right in front of me: the booties, gloves, scrubs, and syringes. The easy access to drugs, like insulin.

I had no doubt anymore.

It was Peggy.

She’d killed Bud and put Fred Hicks into a coma.

Instead of fear, I felt depressed.

“Where is Sarah?” I asked, because I wanted to be sure she was somewhere safe and not alone.

“At her grandmother’s in Omaha,” Peggy said, chin trembling. “She’s afraid everyone will find out, that someone will see the tape and recognize her. She can’t hold her head up anymore. She might never be the same again.” The front of her smock was blotched with her tears, and the hands she clutched at her breasts shook like palsy. She was this close to shattering to pieces. “He was the first man she’d ever been with. The first one, don’t you get it? She believed she was in love with him, and he robbed her of her innocence completely.” She shook her head. “Sarah was never the same after I divorced her father. She was like a lost little girl. We fought all the time, and I
know
she went to work at Jugs to spite me. I arranged the protests there to watch over her, but it wasn’t enough, was it?”