Night of the Living Deb Read Online Free Page A

talk about your birthday party. Besides, it’s my treat, so you can have whatever you please.”
    On cue, my stomach growled, and I realized I had nothing more appealing than Pop-Tarts for breakfast. And they weren’t even the iced kind. Poo.
    Buck up, Kendricks, I urged myself. It’s only brunch.
    “You sound tired, darling. Didn’t you sleep well?”
    “I had a late night,” I told her, though I didn’t explainwhere I was and whose shoulders I’d been slung around.
    “If I go, I can’t stay long, okay?”
    I planned on spending most of the day with Brian. Well, as soon as he regained consciousness, whenever that would be. He’d been so wrapped up in work lately that I’d hardly seen him. I explained this to Mother, praying it might get me a reprieve; but no such luck.
    “Mr. Malone is invited to come, of course.”
    I figured he’d rather be dipped in a vat of boiling tar.
    Okay, I’m exaggerating, but I was sure he’d rather sleep in than endure a prissy brunch with Her Highness of Highland Park the morning after his boys’ night out.
    “That’s sweet of you, Mother, but I’d wager he’s not fit for linen napkins and mimosas, not after the bachelor party.”
    “Bachelor party?” I envisioned her perfectly arched blond brows lifting. “For whom? Anyone I know?”
    “Not really a party.” I scrambled to fix any damage caused by my loose lips. “Just him and a pal from the firm.
    Someone junior. I’m sure you’ve never met him.”
    Though she might have. ARGH handled my mother’s legal affairs, had worked out the sale of Daddy’s drug company to a pharmaceutical giant, on whose board Cissy sat to keep an eye on things. Mother was quite chummy with J. D. Abramawitz—old Abe—one of the founding fathers, and stayed current on all the ARGH gossip.
    “So Mr. Malone isn’t . . . with you?” she asked, like I hadn’t seen that one coming from fifty yards back.
    I sat up straighter, rubbing my forehead. “No, Mother, he didn’t stay here last night. I haven’t heard from him since before he went out.”
    “Well, then don’t bother him, darling. Let him sleep as late as he wants, and you can join us for brunch. There’s something Stephen and I want to tell you besides, and it would be best if you were alone.”
    Okay, that stopped me in my tracks.
    Something to tell me? Best if I was alone?
    My heart caught in my throat, jumping to a hefty conclusion that shook me to my daddy’s girl core. “Please, don’t tell me you two have gone and done anything rash?”
    Like getting hitched, I nearly asked, but Cissy too quickly jumped in.
    “I’ll see you at ten, sweet pea, and, please, don’t wear a ratty T-shirt or jeans with holes in them. Kiss kiss,” she cooed, before I heard that telltale sound of her hanging up.
    I sat stunned, phone still clutched to my ear, the dial tone humming tunelessly until I set the handset back in its cradle and stared into space, numbed by what I imagined.
    Had Stephen proposed to my mother?
    They’d only been dating for a month. But then, they were both in their sixties. Maybe they figured they didn’t have a moment to lose.
    No matter that I liked the guy, in what little time I’d spent around him, the mere idea of Cissy remarried to anyone unsettled me. She’d been alone the past twelve years, and I’d grown accustomed to that, after finally digesting my father’s death (yeah, I’m slow with closure).
    Stop it, Andy, I told myself.
    Maybe it was something else entirely.
    Like Stephen had agreed to co-chair the Boot Scoot to Stamp-Out Hunger Hoedown this year. A former IRS agent might know a few tactics to pry money out of tightfisted blue bloods.
    Which meant I had to go to brunch, didn’t it? There was no skipping out if I wanted to find out Mother’s secret.
    Rats.
    Foiled again.
    Amazing how Cissy could get me to do what she wanted with barely a twist of my arm. She was a master in the art of coercion.
    With a groan, I dragged myself from the