Night of the Living Deb by Susan McBride Read Free Book Online Page A

5
    Tweeeeet!
    The obnoxious noise made minced meat of my concentration, and I winced as it pulled me
    out of my trance, as I’d been deep into adding texture to streaks of silver paint by dabbing the thick bands of color with crinkled foil. I briefly considered ignoring the call until I realized it could be Brian.
    So I dropped what I was doing, raced across the room and breathlessly answered, “Malone?” as I picked it up.
    “Lord Almighty, Kendricks, you mean you still don’t know where he is?”
    Well, shit on a stick .
    It was Allie again.
    I glanced at the clock, surprised at how late it was; but I’d been so absorbed in my painting I hadn’t noticed the light weakening beyond the slanted window blinds.
    It was already a quarter past six.
    “Has he made like ET and phoned home yet?” she demanded, then rushed on before I could get a word in.
    “ ’Cause hell if I can find him. Went to the office, and he was nowhere in sight, and he hadn’t been in unless he snuck past the front desk. I asked Security to check the names logged in since midnight, and Bri’s not on there anywhere. I’ve paged him, like, three times, and he hasn’t answered one. Even called a few of the guys from the firm that he pals around with, though they haven’t seen him since Friday. So what’s the deal, Andy? Has he gone AWOL, or is he just being a prick?”
    I bristled. Malone was never that. Not to me or anyone else, unless he had a split personality that I’d never glimpsed.
    If she hadn’t gotten me worrying all over again with her comments about Malone not being at the office and not returning the papers to the file, I would’ve hung up on her, then and there.
    The witch.
    “Listen, Allie, if you couldn’t find him at his apartment or ARGH, and he isn’t with his friends, then something’s odd and you know it. Brian doesn’t blow people off, or pull a diva and disappear”—which I’m sure Ms. Seven Jeans had done a time or two herself—“so he’s either with another friend and his cell’s not working or something’s happened to him, and we need to find out which it is.”
    She sounded only vaguely less snarky as she answered, “You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s not like him. He’s Mr. Dependable.
    Captain Clockwork. Sir Stick in the Mud. If he’s not dodging the both of us then he’s probably lying in
    a ditch somewhere or bound and gagged—”
    “Stop it. That’s not funny.”
    If she’d stood in front of me, I would’ve slapped her. I’d already ventured down that road myself, but I was joking.
    This felt suddenly serious.
    “I didn’t mean—”
    “Shut up, Allie.”
    “But I—”
    “Just shut up,” I snapped then added instinctively, “Please.”
    Thankfully, she did.
    My mind raced ahead, needing to figure out a plan, something to grab onto so we wouldn’t go round in circles again.
    Be calm , I told himself. Think , don’t panic .
    But a very panicky chorus of “What to do, what to do?”
    tick-tocked in my brain, keeping time with the beat of my heart as it slapped against my ribs.
    I quickly made a mental list that began with calling Matty to see if he’d heard from Malone since last night.
    “What’s Matty and Eleanor’s number?” I asked the incredibly still-silent Allie as I stretched the phone cord as far as it would go; luckily, far enough to reach my cell and detach it from where I’d plugged it in to recharge.
    I could imagine Allie rolling her eyes as she recited the digits, which I dialed with my thumb, telling her to hang on as I listened to it ring.
    One ringie-dingie . . . two . . . then success.
    A high-pitched voice uttered, “Hello?”
    “Eleanor? It’s Andy Kendricks, from last night,” I reminded her, in case she’d forgotten after one too many vodkatinis.
    “Oh, yeah, hi, Andy, wasn’t that the most fun you’ve ever had with your clothes on? My God, when that dancer came over and—”
    “Would you put Matty on?” I had no patience for smalltalk.
    I