Free Blue Blood: A Debutante Dropout Mystery by Susan McBride

it took him longer. “The only place it’s even mentioned is in Molly’s statement. She claims she put the cash and the credit card receipts from the register into the bank bag and placed it on Hartman’s desk. But no such bag was found by the police.” He shifted in his seat. “Look, Andy, the D.A.’s office got a copy of her credit report, and Molly’s in debt up to her eyeballs. They’re going to contend she stole the cash herself, maybe even killed for it.”
    I scooted to the edge of my chair. “Then why would she even bring it up?”
    “Because they would’ve found out it was missing sooner or later.”
    “So where is it?” I asked point-blank. “Did they find it when they searched her place? Was it in her car?”
    “No.”
    “Aha!”
    But my moment of glee was short-lived.
    “They’ll say she hid it somewhere, planning to go back for it later.”
    I sniffed. “Give me a break.”
    “It gives her a motive, Andy.”
    Why did it seem like he was fighting me instead of taking up the battle cry of Molly’s innocence?
    “Look, Malone, she said there was at least four or five thousand in cash, though she didn’t do an official tally. She told me Bud always made up the deposit slips, never the wait staff. Maybe he did that for a very good reason. Like he was being a little creative with his bookkeeping.”
    Malone scratched behind his ear. “You’re the one who’s getting a little creative here. Let’s stick to the facts for now, please.”
    Facts schmacts.
    I pressed my lips together, saying nothing, but my mind was making such a racket I was surprised he couldn’t hear it. If Molly didn’t take that bank bag from Bud’s desk when she ran off just before one o’clock, clearly someone else had been there.
    Whoever it was, I’d figure it out.
    I left Malone’s office and headed to the only place with any answers.

Chapter 9
    T he sun was sinking fast below the flat horizon as I drove north on the tollway and exited at Preston Road.
    I pulled off at the sight of the Golden Arches, detouring at McDonald’s just long enough to drive through and order a Filet-O-Fish and fries. I’d missed lunch, what with going down to Lew Sterrett to see Molly and stopping by ARGH, and my stomach had started a vicious rumbling that didn’t stop until I washed down the last fry with a chug of cold soda.
    Across the street, most of the vans from the local TV stations still camped in the parking lot at Jugs.
    This was big news, I realized. Juicy scandal. The owner of a restaurant famous for its half-naked waitresses had been stabbed to death. One of those half-naked waitresses had been arrested and charged with the crime. The story would likely knock the latest Dallas Cowboys’ escapades off the front page of the Morning News , at least for a couple days.
    There was no need to think WWND (What Would Nancy Do—as in Drew), because I had that all mapped out. Like a rubbernecker drawn to a highway accident, I was magnetically pulled across the street.
    I drove over and slid the Jeep into an empty space at the Zuma Beach Club since it wouldn’t open for hours yet.
    Yellow crime-scene tape fluttered across the front doors of the restaurant. The enormous pair of jugs on the billboard high above seemed to stare as I approached.
    Now I understood why the anti-Jugs protestors had once painted a giant pink bra over them. They were rather disconcerting.
    I wondered how Molly had felt about coming here night after night, having to work for a guy like Bud Hartman who, from what I’d heard, seemed to think his waitresses were his personal possessions. Did the men who frequented the place have the same macho outlook? Had they treated her with more respect than Bud, or had Molly been responsible for fending off their advances as well with little more than a smile as her defense?
    I felt steamed just thinking about it.
    A blue-and-white Dallas patrol car was parked near the restaurant’s front entrance, and I noticed one of