Night of the Living Deb (17 page)

Before I made my escape, Hutch shoved a business card at me and said, “Be smart, Ms. Kendricks, and give us a call if you learn something.”

I took the card, but rebelliously thought,
Like hell I will
.

What kind of woman turned in her man to the fuzz?

It was quite apparent that the police were after Malone to crucify him, not set him free from whatever spider’s web he’d gotten himself caught up in. Not that I had great insight into police procedure, but it seemed to me that once they had a suspect in mind, they didn’t often waver from that course.

And I wasn’t about to see Brian go to jail for a crime I was sure he didn’t commit. Not if I could get to him first.

Which I would. Somehow.

I just wasn’t so sure what path I’d have to take.

I figured I’d ring my good friend Allie and apprise her of Mother’s and my detainment in Addison, just as soon as I departed the detectives’ company.

As if by osmosis, the cell in my bag started ringing as I put shoes to damp gravel and slammed the car’s rear door.

I stepped away from the unmarked vehicle, which began to slowly roll away, and retrieved the gadget with the irritating ring tone, seeing an unfamiliar number as I flipped it open and answered, “Hello?”

I heard a strangely garbled voice. “Andrea Kendricks?”

it asked.

“Uh-huh. Who’s this?” I couldn’t even tell if it was male or female. Sounded like someone was talking through a dish towel.

“You still missing your boyfriend?”

“What? How do you know about that?” I asked—the first thing that popped out of my mouth.

“If you want him back alive, shut up and listen, and don’t call the media or the police. You understand?” the barely discernible voice demanded, and a frisson of fear shot through me so that I couldn’t have spoken if I’d wanted to.

“It’s up to you, okay? Pay us the money or you’re gonna find pieces of your boyfriend all over New—um, Dallas. I won’t waste a bullet. I’ll just sharpen my knife. And I’d hate to get blood on his pretty pink shirt.”

Despite my cotton-dry mouth, I got out, “What do you want from me?”

“We want $212,000 in cash by midnight tonight. We’ll take it in Benjamins. You deliver it. No one else. We know what you look like, so no funny business. Got it?”

I whispered, “Yes,” because it was the only answer that seemed fitting. I was already picturing a blade being sharpened, like on those Ronco commercials for Ginzu knives.

“Be a good little girl, and he won’t get hurt, okay?

We’ll contact you soon with instructions.”

“Wait,” I piped up. “How do I know that you have Brian? Let me talk to him. Hello?
Hello?
”

But there was nothing; merely dead air.

It took a moment for the gist of the phone call to register; then a wave of panic filled my chest, and I could hardly catch my breath.

Someone had Malone, and they wanted a ransom?

I wished I could’ve laughed this off, but my gut told me it was real enough. Why else would the bad guys phone me unless they’d found out who I was from Brian?

Unless they knew I was someone with access to money (and I was, courtesy of my generous trust fund from Daddy, though it’s not like I kept it in a piggy bank).

Hell’s bells, this couldn’t be happening.

What kind of nightmare was I trapped in?

If I lived on Elm Street and Freddie Krueger was my next door neighbor, things would surely seem rosier than this.

Tears stung my eyes, and I bit my lower lip to stop its trembling.

Just when I thought nothing worse could possibly happen, it did.

It already had.

Chapter 14

Malone had been kidnapped?

Was it possible?

Or was it a horrible hallucination, borne from inhaling an overdose of Eau de Sock while at Brian’s place, when I should have worn the OSHA-approved gas mask?

But the call was real enough.

I’d heard it with my own reliable ears, and the way my knees shook attested to its authenticity as well.

What the devil was going on?

My boyfriend was being held hostage.

No wonder he couldn’t be found. He was probably imprisoned in some madman’s basement, chained to a radiator, made to lap up fetid water from a dog bowl.

So I’d been right in thinking someone else was responsible for his vanishing act. I’d believed all along there was an outside force involved, and now I knew for sure there was, which scared the hell out of me, like nothing else.

I tasted fear in my mouth and looked up, watching as the cop car pulled away and out of the parking lot, panic filling my chest as I realized I couldn’t tell them about the threat to Brian’s life.

Could I?

If you want him back alive, shut up and listen, and don’t call the media or the police, got it?

I got it all right.

No cops.

No reporters.

Unless I wanted Malone carved up like a Cobb salad.

If anything happened to him and I was responsible, I would never forgive myself.

A soft touch on my arm startled me, and I glanced up at my mother, standing at my elbow with a worried look on her face.

“Is somethin’ wrong, Andrea sweetie?”

I couldn’t meet her eyes, and instead fumbled with my cell, afraid to drop it in my bag for fear I’d miss another call from the bad guys, though they wouldn’t phone again so soon, would they?

Regardless, I hung onto it, despite my shaky grip and fingers suddenly slick with sweat.

“Andrea, whatever is the matter? And don’t try to tell me it’s nothing. You look whiter than Bunny Beeler’s new porcelain veneers.” She had her car keys in one hand, but reached for me with the other, tucking her thumb beneath my chin. “Who was that call from? Was it about Mr. Malone?

Is he injured?”

The last time I’d broken into tears in front of Cissy was . . . well, I couldn’t remember when. I tried to avoid that kind of situation if I could. There was something bred into me that always made me want to buck up, grin and bear it, never let ’em see me sweat.

Though this was different, wasn’t it?

I wondered if my daddy would have pearls of wisdom for a situation like this, some down-home advice to get me through this; because I couldn’t think of anything offhand that would make me feel less than frantic.

The trembling in my legs increased, and I felt the rest of my body shudder, dying to join in and collapse in a heap.

“Sweet pea, answer me. Did someone give you bad news about Brian? Well, worse than what we already know, of course, what with the police thinking he might’ve killed that erotic dancer.”

Erotic dancer?

I wanted to correct her, but my teeth started chattering,

and I couldn’t form a single word.

“Andrea, please, you’re scarin’ me.” My mother’s pale blue eyes bored into mine, the worry in them palpable, and I bit the inside of my cheek as I fought to get control of my emotions.

“It’s bad,” I said, voice catching. “Really bad.”

I saw my mother glance around us, at the crowd gathered around the reporter, still interviewing neighbors from Brian’s apartment complex.

“In the car,” she commanded, obviously sensing I was on the verge of hysterics. She guided me toward the passenger door of her Lexus, hustled me in and then quickly appeared in the driver’s seat, starting the car and turning on the heat, though I was perspiring like a marathon runner.

“What can I do, sweetheart?” she asked, leaning nearer so that I caught a huge whiff of Joy. She took my hand between her powdery soft ones and patted. “If you’d tell me what it is, perhaps I can help you. Was that Mr. Malone on the phone? Do you know where he is?”

“No,” I said, a tiny pathetic squeak. “It wasn’t Brian.”

She laced her fingers through mine and squeezed.

“Whoever it was obviously scared you to death. You’re positively clammy.”

“I am scared to death,” I whispered, the blur of tears in my eyes. “I’m afraid for Brian.”

“Sweetie, talk to me, or I can’t fix it,” she said in that soft way of hers that could so often make me do things I didn’t really want to do. “Don’t shut me out.”

I could keep this to myself, try to handle it on my own, but I didn’t like that option because I wasn’t sure I could do it without sacrificing Malone. I couldn’t afford to screw up, or he might be sliced and diced.

As far as I could see, there was no choice but one. So I made the decision then and there to confide in my mother, to trust her, because I wasn’t sure what else to do and I couldn’t go through this alone. I needed guidance, a plan, some kind of strategy.

Though Cissy had done her fair share of playing diplomat and defusing potential blow-ups when it came to selfabsorbed socialites on committees, I wasn’t sure how much she knew about freeing a hostage.

But she was dating a man who might well have a smidgen of experience in that area.

“I think I should talk to Stephen,” I told her; hardly able to believe I was uttering those words, particularly after our uncomfortable conversation at brunch yesterday. But Mother’s beau had a military background, which doubtless had prepared him on how to get out of situations as

sticky as this.

Besides, I couldn’t fathom where else to go, who else I could turn to.

Stephen Howard was my only hope.

“You want to discuss whatever’s bothering you with Stephen?
My
Stephen?” She looked puzzled and pleased all at once. “Are you still upset about my traveling with him to Vegas? Because if that’s adding to the state you’re in, well then, my darling, consider the trip cancelled.”

Good Lord, did she think everything revolved around her?

Yep, my boyfriend was being held at knifepoint under threat of death, yet I was more miffed that my mummy planned to fly to Sin City with a man she wasn’t hitched to.

Okay, that was probably an unfair assessment, but I was feeling pretty discombobulated at the moment, so forgive my snarky mood.

I managed to answer calmly, “Mother, no, it’s not about you at all. It’s about Brian and what he’s gotten himself into. He’s in real trouble.”

“I know, darling.” She cocked her head. “They found a murdered girl in his car trunk, which I’d hardly call a picnic.”

“Brian didn’t murder that woman, and just because she was found in his car trunk with his business card doesn’t prove a thing, no matter what the police seem to think,” I sniveled, whining like a three-year-old.

“I’m sure he didn’t kill that girl, my goodness,” she said, all wide eyes and fluttery lashes. “Though his being innocent doesn’t explain why he’s hiding, which tends to make one wonder what kind of situation he’s tangled up in. Not that I’m implying anything.”

Whoa, Nelly.

What had happened to
He’s an upstanding young man and a fine lawyer at one of the most respected firms in the city
?

In addition to wanting to cry, I suddenly felt the urge to kick something, and I didn’t even have PMS. Everything was such a freaking mess.

“Mother, Brian’s not hiding, he’s been kidnapped,” I wailed in a most indelicate manner, not caring about the sobs that shook my voice. “So, it’s not fatherly advice I want from Stephen, and I don’t need you being judgmental about what they found in Malone’s trunk. Someone’s got him, and they want a wad of cash by midnight or they’ll cut him up in a million tiny pieces!” I finished with a strangled cry, which is when the tears began to fall in earnest.

“For heaven’s sake, Andrea, why didn’t you say so in the first place? You do tend to run in circles sometimes.”

I
ran in circles?

Oh, boy.

I couldn’t even manage a biting retort, not in the midst of my meltdown.

For a minute or two, I boohooed with the best of them, before the waterworks started to dry up and I wiped my nose on my cuff.

“Oh, Andrea, honey, no.” My mother promptly withdrew a clean and pressed (and monogrammed) handkerchief from her bag, handing it over. “Now blow.”

In my family, a proffered hankie was often given in lieu of a hug.

Call us sentimental.

So I honked my horn into the hankie and blotted at my soggy eyes, pulling myself together so I could repeat the kidnapper’s ransom demand.

Cissy kept her lips zipped as I rambled; though, when I’d finished, she further cranked up the heat in the Lexus, as if she could sweat the fear out of me. Then she unsnapped her rarely used cell phone from its compartment in her purse.

“What are you doing?” I asked, hoping to God she wasn’t calling Anna Dean, the deputy chief of the Highland Park Police, or one of her society reporting cronies at the
Dallas Morning News
.

She gave me a “hush” look as she dialed before she uttered sternly but sweetly, “Hello, Stephen? Can you meet me at the house in, say, twenty minutes? Andrea has something serious to discuss with you . . . Oh, you did? On the radio?” She lowered her voice, as if I wouldn’t hear. “Yes,

it’s about
that
. And thank you.” She blushed, the flicker of a smile on her lips as she added, “Yes, me too. See you soon.”

I stared at her for the longest moment, thinking that in the good old days it would’ve been my daddy she’d been talking to in such an intimate tone. It would’ve been my father whom I’d run to, since he could solve any problem, no matter how big.

But Daddy was gone, and I needed a cooler head to prevail.

Stephen Howard would have to do. “Better now?” she said, and I nodded, pressing the used kerchief back into her hand. “Good girl.”

Be a good little girl, and he won’t get hurt, okay?

I recalled the mumbled voice again and shut my eyes, pressed my hands between my thighs to still them.

Mother put the car in gear and started driving.

All the way south to Highland Park a million questions flitted through my mind. Why would someone do this to Brian? How could I get $212,000 in cash—and Benjamins, mind you—together before midnight? Would they