Free Night of the Living Deb by Susan McBride Page A

stopped ragging the bar to point a finger directly at this particular serving wench, I had a pretty good feeling it was Lu McCarthy.
    My insides clenched, and I hovered at Allie’s elbow, waiting as the barmaid sauntered up and plunked her tray atop the ledge.
    “I’m on break, Cricket. Be back in ten,” she said to the bartender, loudly enough so he could catch her words over the music.
    Cricket?
    The guy was as burly as a linebacker, with a shaved head and eyebrows that resembled mating caterpillars. I could even make out a tattoo, or at least the angled tips of a winged critter—I’m guessing a hawk or an eagle as opposed to Big Bird—wrapping around his thick neck.
    “Hey, Lu? It is Lu, isn’t it?” I heard Allie say, before I even considered opening my trap. “Any chance my friend and I can chat with you a spell? We’re hoping you can help us.”
    The fierce-looking bartender chirped—and I mean chirped, which might explain the “Cricket” thing—“Girlfriend, they want to chat with you ’bout that dude you saw leave with Ms. Trash.”
    Ms. Trash? I mused. Man, the folks around here had weird names, but maybe that was part of the ambiance.
    Lu looked blank, or else she was doing a damned fine impression of Little Orphan Annie.
    “Guy looked a little like John Cusack in his Say Anything days, only with glasses,” the bartender added to jog her memory.
    I squinted, trying to picture Malone as John Cusack, or the reverse. I didn’t see it. I’d always thought Brian had more of a Tom Hanks “aw shucks” quality.
    “With a touch of Matt Damon from Good Will Hunting ,”
    Cricket added. “He had that brainy look to him.”
    Okay, I’d give him that.
    “Oh, yeah, that dude,” Lu said, apparently recovered from her brush with short-term memory loss. She turned from Cricket and gave me a chin-jerk. “So your man never made it home?”
    “No,” I said, squirming in my shoes. “The friend he was here with last night, Matty, said he paid you to go backstage after Malone. He told me you saw him leave with a woman.”
    “Yeah, with a girl who works here.” Lu took a long look at me. She had a nice face with large brown eyes and short dark hair. “He really hasn’t turned up since then?”
    “No,” I got out, my voice scratchier than a wool sweater. I was still having trouble believing this whole
    scenario was real, when it felt anything but.
    “So he’s missing, huh?” the suddenly talkative barmaid continued giving me the third degree. “Like that TV show with the FBI guys who’re really hot?”
    “Um, I guess, sure.” Except no hot FBI guys were involved in this hunt for Malone, just me and Allie Mc-Squeal. “He’s, um, kind of been out of touch since last night,” I said, and felt that lump in my throat return, though it had never really left, not since I’d talked to Matty.
    Lu threw a glance at her pal Cricket before she addressed me again. “Look, hon, I don’t know you, and I’ve got no right to tell you this, but the dude’s obviously a jerk. Maybe you’re better off,” she said and crossed her arms over the swell of breasts that overflowed the tightly
    strung corset.
    “Yep, he’s a jerk all right,” Allie repeated. “The poor girl’s going out of her mind, wondering what happened to him. He hasn’t even called, for crying out loud.”
    Thanks, Dr. Fraud, but I hadn’t gone out of my mind quite yet. Still, all this drama was doing a fine job of turning my guts into a twisted mess, like funnel cakes at the Texas State Fair. All that was missing was the powdered sugar.
    The brunette in the lace-up dominatrix boots glanced over at Cricket as if for reassurance. He shrugged, apparently finding the two of us plenty harmless, and Lu’s face puckered, making a decision.
    “Let’s see if Trayla’s in back,” she said. “She’s got half a set to make up tonight sometime, since she took off with your dude before she finished last night. She should be getting