Blue Bloods (Blue Bloods 1)

"You think she borrowed this book? Maybe she knows something about it?" Bliss asked.

Schuyler shrugged. "I don't know, but I could ask her."

"When is she getting back from Nantucket?" Oliver asked.

"Tomorrow. I'm supposed to meet her at the Conservatory lunch. I almost forgot," Schuyler said.

"So, Oliver, this Croatan thing, that's what's behind Aggie's death?" Bliss asked.

"I think so," Oliver said. "Although I still don't know what it is."

"But even if we did find out, it still doesn't do anything for Dylan. Even if Croatan is what killed Aggie, how are we going to prove Dylan didn't do it? How are we going to prove he's been set up?" Bliss asked.

"We don't," Oliver said. "I mean, you guys don't. I don't know how much help I can be."

"What do you mean? You've already done so much," Schuyler protested. She gave him an admiring glance that made him blush.

"Research, yes. I can do research. That's what we're good for, but I can't do anything to help with the plan."

"What plan?" Bliss asked, amused.

Oliver looked so serious and purposeful for a second. He had dropped his glib jokes for once. "We've been acting as if the system works for us. It doesn't. You need to think like Blue Bloods. We're never going to convince anyone to let Dylan out based on what we know. So we do something else," Oliver said.

"What?"

"Bust him out."

CHAPTER 35

The Central Park Conservatory luncheon was one of the most important events on Cordelia's social calendar. It was held in a ballroom at the Plaza, and was already well under way when Schuyler arrived. She checked in at the registration table and found her grandmother seated in the center with well-preserved luminaries on either side.

"My granddaughter, Schuyler," Cordelia said, looking pleased.

Schuyler pecked her grandmother's cheek. She took a seat at the table, removing a program from her chair.

The yearly luncheon raised a significant sum for the upkeep and maintenance of the park. It was one of the Blue Bloods most cherished causes. It had been their idea to bring nature to New York, to bring an oasis to the heart of the city, a simulacrum of the Garden they had been banished from so long ago. Schuyler recognized many of the grande dames and socialites from The Committee meetings flitting about from table to table, greeting guests.

"Cordelia - what's Croatan?" Schuyler demanded, breaking in to the gossipy chitchat.

The table went silent, and several ladies raised their eyebrows at Schuyler and her grandmother.

Cordelia startled at the word. She broke the roll she was holding in two. "This is neither the time nor the place, young lady," she said quietly.

"I know you know. We saw it in one of the Repository books. It had your initials in them. Cordelia, I have to know," Schuyler whispered fiercely.

At the podium, the mayor was thanking the ladies of the conversancy for their generous donations and efforts to keep Central Park a vibrant and beautiful place. There was a ripple of applause, under which Cordelia admonished her granddaughter.

"Not now. I will tell you afterward, but you will not embarrass me at this function."

For the next hour, Schuyler sat glumly, picking at the herb chicken on her plate and listening to a host of speakers describe the new activities and developments planned for the park. There was a slide show on the new art exhibit, and a presentation on the restoration of Bethesda Fountain.

Finally, after they were given their gift bags, and she and Cordelia were safely ensconced in Cordelia's ancient limousine, with Julius driving, did Schuyler get her answers.