The Hitwoman's Juggling Act

by J. B. Lynn

  Now, I found myself wondering what kind of devil would have that very picture hanging in his bedroom.

  I didn’t say any of that out loud. I just stood there staring at the photo, open-mouthed.

  “You okay, sugar?” Piss wound herself between my ankles.

  “Is she breathing?” God asked.

  “If she wasn’t breathing, she’d be on the floor,” Piss sniped back. “She’s just had a shock. Give her a minute.”

  Grateful for her understanding, I scooped her off the floor and snuggled her to me.

  She purred wordlessly. The vibration was comforting so I closed my eyes and soaked it up for a long moment.

  “What do you think it means?” God asked.

  I opened my eyes and once again focused on the picture. “I don’t know.”

  “Sure you do,” he pushed. “You’ve got to be thinking the same thing as me. Herschel could be your grandfather.”

  I shook my head and squeezed the cat a little tighter. “No. He’s dead.” I sank down to sit on the edge of the bed, my legs too weak to continue standing.

  “So you were told,” God countered.

  “Go easy on her,” Piss warned. “Her heart is beating too fast and her breathing is too shallow.” She nuzzled her head beneath my chin, trying to reassure me.

  “My grandmother said he was dead,” I told the lizard. “Why would she lie about that?”

  “From everything I’ve heard about that woman,” God harrumphed, “it seemed like she delighted in making others miserable.”

  I nodded slowly. It wasn’t an inaccurate assessment of the woman who’d often told me that I was remarkably unremarkable.

  “And he can talk to animals,” the lizard reminded me, climbing onto the bed and perching near my knee.

  “That is an unusual skill,” Piss admitted.

  Closing my eyes, I leaned back on the bed, too exhausted to sit up anymore.

  “Did she pass out? A heart attack? A stroke?” God asked worriedly. “The shock was too much for her. She’s been under so much stress lately and now it’s all caught up with her. What are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to give her a moment of silence,” Piss suggested, kneading my shoulder with her paws. “She’s going to be just fine.”

  A hush fell over the room and tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes.

  “It’s too much,” I whispered.

  “I know, sugar,” Piss purred, rhythmically kneading me.

  “You can handle this,” God whispered in my ear.

  “I can’t…” I trailed off, too overwhelmed to continue. The weight of everything, finding a new home, the skull, worrying about Katie being taken away, the safety of Boy and the Delveccio job, and now this…the possibility that Herschel was family, made it difficult to breathe.

  I let out a shaky sob.

  “Breathe,” God urged.

  “Let it out, sugar,” Piss coached.

  My cell phone buzzed, letting me know that someone else wanted something from me. I automatically wiped away my tears and checked the message.

  15

  I considered throwing the phone across the room but chose to chuckle, instead. It wasn’t laughter born of humor, but rather forged from a feeling of “what else can go wrong?”

  “What’s so funny?” God asked as I forced myself to sit up.

  “Nothing. It’s a message from Griswald.”

  “The federal agent or the cop?” the lizard asked.

  “Special Agent Lawrence Griswald, Susan’s new husband.”

  “What does he want?”

  I picked up the lizard and placed him on my shoulder before getting to my feet. “We’ve got a new problem.”

  “What’s that?” Piss asked, following me as I left the bedroom.

  “Susan’s in the hospital. She had an attack.”

  “A heart attack?” God asked. “Was it fatal?”

  “What is it with you and heart attacks?” Piss hissed.

  “Heart attacks are the number one killer of women in the United States,” God rattled off. “Sure, breast cancer gets all the pretty pink ribbon press, but heart disease is the widower maker.”

  “Why do you have to be so morbid?” I fought the urge to flick him off my shoulder. “She didn’t have a heart attack. She had a panic attack, and apparently, she’s asking for me.”

  God let out a low whistle. “Wow, the stoic sister is now cracking up.”

  It wasn’t an inaccurate assessment. I hurried out to the car, loaded DeeDee and Zippy inside, and took off in the direction of the hospital.

  “I don’t know what Griswald thinks I can do for her,” I griped. “I’m barely holding it together, myself.”

  “I think holding it together may be a stretch,” God opined. “You just collapsed, after all.”

  “Help DeeDee,” the Doberman barked.

  “Somehow, the idea of you helping the woman who never wanted a mutt seems farfetched,” God told her, reminding us how opposed Susan had been to the dog in the beginning.

  “She likes DeeDee now,” I reminded him.

  “That was before she cracked up,” the lizard retorted.

  “Griswald didn’t say she’s cracked up,” I said defensively, though, knowing my family’s mental history, it was definitely a possibility.

  “Maybe you can get a group rate on a room at the mental hospital,” the lizard suggested.

  I was totally down for that.

  I called Ian on my way to the hospital, explained briefly what the problem was (omitting the whole bit about Herschel), and asked him to meet me in the parking lot so he could take the animals and get Zippy some medical attention.

  “Don’t tell him about Herschel,” I instructed my pets.

  “Not why?” DeeDee panted inquisitively.

  “I need to figure things out, and I just can’t handle one more complication at the moment,” I told her, my voice cracking defensively. I didn’t need my half-brother asking questions right now, at least, not until I had some answers, myself.

  “Don’t worry, sugar,” Piss purred. “Our lips are sealed.”

  “Maybe yours are,” God interjected doubtfully, “but the dog’s loose lips may sink this ship.”

  DeeDee cocked her head to the side, confused. “Ship?”

  “And what about the mutt?” God challenged, looking at the other canine pointedly.

  Zippy growled at him.

  “It’ll be fine,” Piss assured us.

  Neither the lizard nor I were convinced, but it wasn’t like I had many other options. Zippy needed care. Aunt Susan needed me.

  Because I was in responsible mode, I opened a house hunting app on my phone while I stood in the parking lot. This way, I could honestly tell Aunt Susan I’d looked for a place. Just the number of required bedrooms the family would need severely limited the choices. As did the prices.

  I sighed, the burden of the impossible task weighing heavily on me. I knew I should feel grateful for the job Delveccio was offering because it would allow me to provide for my family, but with everything else that was going on, it felt like the straw that was going to break the camel’s back.

  Ian’s tires squealed a little as he raced into the parking lot. I shook off my dark thoughts and put my phone away. I could only handle one problem at a time.

  I can only imagine what it looked like as we made the handoff of two dogs and a cat. Piss and DeeDee were both clamoring for Ian’s attention, one meowing and one barking, and Zippy just growled nonstop. I wasn’t sure if that was because he was in pain or if it was simply his personality.

  Ian didn’t seem to care about the chaos. He stared intently at me, worry lines creasing his forehead.

  “Are you okay?” he asked me.

  I nodded.

  He arched an eyebrow skeptically. “Because you look a little pale.”

  “I’m fine,” I told him. “Just stretched a little thin, and I’m worried about Aunt Susan.”

  He nodded. “I
’m glad you called me. I thought, maybe after the skull thing, you were mad at me.”

  “I’m mad at you,” God informed him from where he balanced on my shoulder.

  “You made that clear,” Ian replied drily.

  “You have more pressing problems,” Piss reminded me gently.

  I nodded, acknowledging her wisdom. “So the growler is Zippy. He’s hurt.”

  “I saw,” Ian said.

  “I’m sorry if he bleeds in your car. I’ll pay to have it cleaned.”

  Ian rolled his eyes. “Don’t be silly.”

  “No, really,” I insisted.

  “Bigger problems,” Piss repeated.

  “I’ve got to go,” I told Ian.

  “Of course. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

  I considered asking him to take care of Armani, too, since I had no idea how long I’d be at the hospital, and she definitely required care and feeding, too, but I decided that might be an imposition.

  He drove off with the furry creatures, and I stood in the parking lot asking the lizard, “Do you think I should do something about Armani?”

  “Like getting her some professional help?” he quipped.

  “I’m the one in need of that,” I told him tiredly. “Or a nap. I could really use a nap.”

  “Ask Jack to look after her,” the lizard suggested.

  “Brilliant!” I whipped out my phone.

  “I know I am,” he said. “You should acknowledge that more often, preferably in public settings.”

  “Oh shut up,” I muttered, dialing Jack’s number.

  “Maggie Lee,” his gravelly voice greeted me with teasing warmth. When he wanted to, the man could be an incorrigible flirt. Thankfully, I’d realized early on that getting involved with a crime reporter could land me on the front page, so while I enjoyed our flirtations, I knew they’d never amount to anything. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “I need a favor.”

  He hesitated before asking carefully, “What kind of favor?”

  “I’ve got a family emergency, and I don’t know when I’ll get back to the hotel, so I was wondering if you could take Armani out.”

  “On a date?” he asked hopefully.

  “Well, I was hoping for a meal, but hey, you two crazy kids make it whatever you want.”

  “I can do that,” he said enthusiastically.

  I gave him the hotel information, thanked him for his time, and headed into the hospital.

  16

  I wasn’t sure if Susan was still in the Emergency Room or had been transferred to the psych wing, but I decided to start my search for her in the ER.

  As soon as I got close, I ran into Templeton in the hallway.

  Aunt Loretta’s fiancé looked even more stressed than he had the last time I’d seen him.

  “You’re here,” he gasped gratefully. “The voice of sanity has arrived.”

  God, now burrowed in my bra, snickered.

  I ignored him. “Who’s in the worst shape?”

  Templeton considered the question for a long moment before joking, “Me?”

  Chuckling, I pulled him into a tight hug. “Thank you. I needed that.”

  He squeezed me back. “I know. Seriously, though, Susan’s struggling.”

  I nodded as we stepped away from each other. “It was a big loss for her.”

  “It was a big loss for all of you,” he corrected. He grabbed my shoulders. “You don’t have to take care of everyone, Maggie. She’s got Lawrence. Loretta’s got me. Leslie’s got Loretta. Marlene has Darlene. Who do you have?”

  “Me,” God whispered.

  My heart squeezed and my eyes filled with tears. I tried to blink them away, but a few coursed down my cheeks.

  “I’m here for you, too,” Templeton told me. “We all are.”

  I nodded, too choked up to speak.

  “Is that you, Maggie?” a familiar voice asked from behind me.

  Dashing away my tears, I turned to face Loretta, who was tottering on her stilettos toward us.

  “Maybe you can get through to Susan,” she continued. “I can’t and Leslie failed and poor Lawrence is just beside himself.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I pledged.

  I held my breath to escape her toxic cloud of perfume as she enveloped me in it with a hug.

  “You’re a good girl,” she said, holding me so tight that I found myself gasping for breath.

  God wheezed laboriously.

  “Let the poor girl go before you smother her,” Templeton admonished, gently pulling my aunt off me.

  He winked at me and led her away down the hall.

  Squaring my shoulders, I took a deep perfume-free gulp of air, and spun around to march into the Emergency Room to tackle Susan’s problem.

  Instead, I ran, full force, smack dab into a man’s muscular chest.

  I would have fallen backward, but strong hands grabbed my arms and held me upright.

  “Sorry,” I muttered instinctively before raising my gaze to look into the face of the human immovable wall I’d collided with.

  Angel Delveccio, devilish delight dancing in his eyes, grinned down at me. “Fancy running into you, Maggie.”

  “We seem to do that a lot,” I murmured as sparks of excitement fired along all the nerves in my body. I may have swayed a little, overwhelmed by the sensation.

  “We do,” he agreed flirtatiously. Then he grew serious, as though he suddenly remembered where we were. “Why are you here?”

  I stepped out of his embrace. “Aunt Susan’s having some difficulty.”

  “Difficulty?”

  I nodded.

  “What kind of difficulty?”

  I hesitated, not wanting to broadcast my aunt’s business. “Nothing serious,” I told him.

  That’s how we deal with mental health problems in my family. We mislabel them and downplay their severity. For years, my aunts would insist that my mother, their sister, was “visiting a health spa” instead of living in a mental institution.

  Angel looked just as unconvinced as the neighbors who’d heard Mom’s wailing in the middle of the night had. But considering he came from a mob family, where I’ve got to assume a lot of things weren’t talked about, he accepted the explanation at face value. “Well, if you need anything, please let me know.”

  “Will do,” I assured him. That was a lie, too. The last thing I needed was to enmesh my family problems with that of the Delveccio clan any more than they already were, no matter how tempting it was to lay my burden on his strong shoulders.

  Angel kissed my cheek, setting off another cascade of sparks, and walked away. I watched him go, trying to get control of my traitorous body and wayward thoughts.

  Giving myself a shake, I strode into the ER’s waiting room, trying to exude confidence rather than the sense of panic that was making my legs heavy and rubbery. The family depended on Aunt Susan’s steadfast strength. I depended on her.

  As though he could read my thoughts, God whispered, “You’ve got this.”

  Rounding the corner, I found Lawrence Griswald leaning against the counter, a phone pressed to his ear.

  I smiled at him, but his only response was a curt nod.

  I winced, realizing he, no doubt, blamed me for Susan’s condition. If I hadn’t allowed the B&B to blow up, none of this would have happened. She’d have been fine. We wouldn’t be here. The sense of guilt and responsibility squeezed my chest, making it hard to breathe.

  God must have sensed the physiological change in me. “Breathe,” he coached on a whisper. “Just breathe. Out first, then in.”

  “Over here, Maggie,” Darlene called, waving me over to a row of plastic chairs on the back wall.

  “What happened?” I asked, walking over to join her.

  Darlene slid a sideways glance at Griswald. “That seems to be a bit of a mystery.”

  I frowned, not liking her tone. She sounded…suspicious. “You don’t think Griswald is responsible,
do you?”

  She shrugged. “He’s being tight-lipped.”

  “He’s a Federal agent. Tight-lipped is part of his job description.”

  “Except he’s not on the job right now, is he?” she countered.

  I shook my head slowly. I liked Griswald, as much as anyone could like someone who had the power to throw them in jail. I didn’t want to believe that he was at fault here. “Susan has been under a great deal of stress,” I said, feeling the need to defend the man our aunt had chosen to marry.

  “We all have been.”

  Not wanting to argue with her, I glanced around and asked, “Where are the kids?”

  “Doc and Marlene are looking after them.” She glanced at her watch. “But since there seems to be nothing for me to do here, I’m going home.”

  “Have you seen her?” I asked as Darlene picked up her purse.

  She shook her head. “No. Apparently, the only person she wants to talk to is you.”

  I frowned, wondering why.

  “Fix this, Maggie,” Darlene ordered sternly.

  “I…I’ll try,” I replied weakly.

  Without another word, my sister walked away, leaving a trail of anger that I really didn’t understand in her wake.

  “What’s her problem?” God asked.

  “She’s stressed.”

  “No reason she should take that out on you.”

  “She’s got a full house. A lot to take care of,” I told him, not caring to hear him attack my sister.

  He muttered something under his breath, but I didn’t pay attention because Griswald was gesticulating wildly at me.

  “She keeps saying your name,” the marshal told me. “Go. Go!”

  I moved quickly in the direction he pointed, despite feeling like I wasn’t prepared to meet my aunt or deal with whatever condition I found her in.

  A nurse, in royal purple scrubs that matched her purple hair, who’d watched my exchange with Susan’s better half, asked, “You’re Margaret?”

  I nodded, unable to speak around the lump that clogged my throat.

  She waved me forward. “This way. Doctor Oliver wants to see you.”

  I followed her down a hall, dodging busy orderlies and harried nurses.

  “Oliver?” my guide snapped at a kid who didn’t look old enough to go to senior prom let alone work at a hospital.