Maggie Lee | Book 28 | The Hitwoman Pays A Debt

by Lynn, JB

  “You think one of your coworkers set it?”

  He nodded. “But I never had any proof. I have my theory of who it might be, but all three of them are suspects.”

  I studied their faces more carefully this time. “These are the three you want me to try to watch.”

  He nodded. “Like I said, Brian will be there, too, but I’d appreciate your take on the situation.”

  I nodded.

  “You look very nice,” he said. “Is that what you’re wearing to my retirement party?”

  I shook my head. “No. I borrowed this from Marlene. Katie got to pick what I’m wearing to your retirement party.”

  He smirked. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  I shrugged. “It’s only a few hours. How bad could it be?”

  “You seem a little…” He hesitated and I knew he was going to bring up Aunt Susan.

  “I’ll apologize to her,” I said before he could say anything else.

  He shook his head. “I’m not sure an apology is necessary. She does seem to ride you harder than your sister.”

  “Maybe that’s because Marlene doesn’t do anything wrong.”

  Chuckling, he shook his head, and I knew he was thinking about the time Marlene had spent estranged from the family, working as a prostitute. “I seriously doubt that’s what it is.”

  I looked at him curiously. “Do you know what it is?”

  He pursed his lips and stared down at the floor for a long moment as though he was deciding whether to answer. “She’s afraid you’re going to turn out like one of your parents.”

  “And would it be worse for me to end up in the looney bin or prison, in her mind?” I asked lightly, despite the fact I often had the same worry. Considering all my illegal dealings, I thought I had a much better chance of ending up in jail than as a roommate of my mom.

  He shrugged. “I’d prefer that you weren’t either.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I promised him.

  “The funeral is at ten,” he said. “Obviously, I’m going to pretend I don’t know you while we’re there.”

  I nodded my understanding.

  “I’ve got to run an errand after that,” I told him.

  “No problem. Whenever you get back here, we’ll compare notes. It’s not like this an urgent case or anything.”

  “Except for your looming retirement date,” I reminded him.

  “Don’t remind me.” He walked out, in the direction that Susan had disappeared.

  I sat down at the kitchen table, waiting for Templeton to reappear in the hopes that once he was done feeding the bird, he would feed me, too. A moment later, he reappeared and grinned. “The crow brought me something.”

  “That must mean he likes you,” I said.

  “I’ve been reading about them,” Templeton confided. “It’s a sign of fondness if they bring you something. But I don’t know if I need this.” He held out his hand, palm upward, revealing that he held a mangled paperclip.

  I chuckled. “Maybe not,” I told him. “But I think he means well.”

  “I think he knows who he can count on to feed him,” Templeton said with a laugh. “A lot like you.” He winked and chuckled as I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat. “What can I make you for breakfast, Maggie?”

  Feeling guilty, I shook my head. “I’m fine. I don’t need anything.”

  “You look like you have a big day ahead of you,” he said. “You should start it with something good. How about crepes?”

  I shrugged helplessly. I mean, who can resist crepes?

  “If you insist,” I said weakly.

  He laughed and got to work.

  11

  The funeral for Griswald’s mentor was held at the opposite end of the cemetery from my sister Teresa’s grave. I hadn’t spent much time in this section, and I found myself examining the gravestones surrounding me just as much as I was watching our three suspects, Stephens, Cheever, and Martinson.

  The three men sat separately from Griswald, I noticed. While he sat front-and-center with the grieving widow, his former coworkers stood quite a distance away whispering among themselves. I picked my way through the rows of headstones, a single rose in my hand, as though I was looking for a certain place to put it.

  I noticed that Detective Brian Griswald, Lawrence’s nephew, was there, too. He didn’t stand anywhere near his uncle, instead, he stood at an angle, glancing back with regularity at the three men that we were supposed to be watching. At one point, he glanced over at me and gave me the slightest nod of recognition.

  I looked down at the flower that I held, not wanting to give away my involvement in the observation. I didn’t know what I was supposed to be looking for and nothing seemed terribly out of place. The mourners all looked appropriately solemn, and the deceased’s family appeared to be distraught, as you would expect them to. Still, I tried to do a good job of keeping an eye on the three retired U.S. Marshals. When they weren’t whispering amongst themselves, they just looked bored. I knew that feeling. I often found myself bored at funerals, too. It’s not like there’s a lot to do, or a lot to even think about. Who knew how long it had been since these men had worked with Griswald’s mentor? They were probably there out of a sense of duty, rather than actual caring.

  I stopped in front of a headstone, noticing that there were dog biscuits balanced on top of it. It read “Loyal Rusty”. Glancing to either side, I saw that the husband’s and wife’s headstones had stones balanced on top. I smiled slightly, amused that they’d had their beloved dog buried between them. To hide my smile from the mourners, I turned my head, and that’s when I saw him. A man in his mid-forties was lurking twenty yards away, trying to keep himself hidden behind a tree. He was watching the proceedings of the funeral intently. His expression was too intense for him to have been just a casual observer.

  Without moving my lips, I whispered, “Piss.”

  The cat, who’d been trailing along behind me, looked up at me with curiosity. “What do you need, Sugar?” she mewled softly.

  “That man behind the tree,” I told her. “Go see what you can find out about him, please.”

  “My pleasure.” She trotted off, her tail high, excited that she had something to do.

  God, now aware that there was somebody of interest, clambered up my bra strap and perched on my shoulder. “Which man?” he whispered in my ear.

  I turned slowly, keeping my head down like I was staring at the flower that I held, so that he could get a better look at our target.

  “He is suspicious,” the lizard agreed. “Excellent observation.”

  I grit my teeth, trying not to grin. He was having way too much fun with this. Remembering I was there to keep an eye on the three former coworkers, I turned my attention back to them as the priest concluded his graveside service and the family rose to their feet. Before the first shovel full of dirt hit the coffin in the grave, Martinson, Cheever, and Stephens began to walk away. Brian Griswald turned to me and jerked his head in their direction, indicating he wanted me to follow them. I gave a slight nod of understanding and began to pick my way quickly through the uneven terrain of the headstones, trying to catch up with them. Glancing to my other side, I saw the man that I’d sent Piss to look after was still in his place, staring at the mourners shoveling dirt into the grave.

  “Hurry,” God urged. “You’re going to lose them.”

  “You try to walk through a cemetery in high heels,” I muttered at him. “If I’m not careful, I’m going to fall, break my ankle, and smash your sensitive skin as I tumble.”

  “You don’t have to be threatening,” he murmured, and dove back into my bra as though he thought the cushioning there could save him from impact.

  I finally drew closer to the men as they reached the line of cars parked along the road. They seemed to be arguing. At least, Stephens and Martinson seemed to be arguing with Cheever. There was a flurry of finger pointing, aggressive posturing, and angry faces. I couldn’t get close enough to eavesdro
p on the conversation, and I realized that I might have made a big mistake sending Piss to follow the other man instead of these men.

  “I’ll go listen,” God suddenly announced. He climbed back out of my bra and ran down my leg, scooting across the cemetery grounds.

  “Please don’t let anybody step on him,” I muttered under my breath. I glanced back to make sure the horde of mourners weren’t stampeding toward their vehicles yet. They were not. It was safe, for the moment. I let out a shaky sigh, pulled out my phone so that the three men, should they notice I’d stopped in their proximity, wouldn’t think it was strange that I was standing still. Nobody thinks twice when someone freezes in place if they’re staring at their phone.

  I was looking down at my screen when the fight began. I don’t know who hit who first, I don’t know what started it, but I heard a thud, followed by a yell, and when I looked up, the three men were tussling like schoolboys on a playground. I stood and watched, unsure of what to do.

  “God,” I called quietly, terrified that he was going to get himself trampled by the scrum.

  He didn’t respond. “God!” I yelled louder.

  Apparently, my call startled the three men. They stared at me, frozen and then broke apart, each hurrying off to his respective car. I shook my phone and yelled one more time so it would look like I was upset with whoever I was having a conversation with. “God!”

  “I’m here,” he said breathlessly. I bent down and scooped him up off the ground. He was breathing heavily, his orange dewlap puffed in and out like he had a bouncy house under his chin.

  “Griswald’s in trouble,” he panted.

  12

  God told me all about the conversation he’d overheard at the cemetery as I drove toward the place where I was supposed to meet Ms. Whitehat. “One of them said he’s a loose end,” the lizard told me excitedly. “He said they have to take care of him.”

  I squeezed the steering wheel. That sounded ominous. I glanced at Piss, who was riding shotgun. The cat had been silent since she’d climbed into the car at the cemetery. “What about you?” I asked. “Did you learn anything interesting?”

  “He didn’t say a word,” she said. “Then again, he was alone, so why would he have?”

  “He was acting suspiciously,” I muttered.

  “I’m not saying he wasn’t,” the cat agreed. “All I’m saying was that he didn’t say anything.”

  I frowned, feeling like I had failed Griswald in my attempts to observe something useful.

  “But he did take off as soon as people started to wander away from the gravesite,” Piss told me. “And I did see where he went.”

  I glanced over at her. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

  She flexed her claws. “Because the lizard was not shutting up.”

  “I had very important information to impart,” God said, puffing his chest up where he stood on the dashboard.

  “Where did mystery man go?” I asked the cat.

  “To a van with a lock on it,” the cat told me.

  “All vans, all trucks, all cars, all SUVs, all compact SUVs, all hybrids,” God ranted, “have locks on them.”

  “Well, somebody knows his four-wheel vehicles,” I muttered under my breath.

  The cat flashed her claws in the direction of the lizard. “It had a picture of a lock on it,” she told him impatiently.

  “He’s a locksmith,” I guessed.

  “Could be,” she said.

  “Cats can’t read,” the lizard reminded me.

  “And reptiles can’t hold their tongues,” Piss hissed. Annoyed, she hopped into the back seat as though she needed to put physical distance between herself and the anole.

  We couldn’t continue our conversation because I’d reached the address Ms. Whitehat had asked me to meet her at. As soon as I pulled to a stop in the parking lot of the deli, a black sedan pulled alongside me. She got out of the back and walked over to climb into my front passenger seat. As usual, she looked impeccable in her ivory pantsuit. She stared at God, sprawled out on the dashboard, for a long moment before turning her attention to me. She ran her gaze over my dress. “That’s a different look.”

  I shrugged. “I had somewhere else to be before this.”

  She nodded. “The cemetery.”

  I squinted at her suspiciously, not liking the fact that she seemed to always know where I was. I wondered if she also knew what I had been doing there. Then, I remembered that Zeke had implied more than once that my car was bugged, which meant she had just heard my one-sided argument with the animals about the people we’d been watching. Who knows what she thought of that.

  “I took the liberty of printing out your resume for you,” she said. She handed me a piece of very expensive ivory paper with a resume printed on it. It had the name Betty Pladme at the top, and qualifications that certainly weren’t mine, listed below it.

  I frowned, not enamored with “Betty” as an alias, but decided it wouldn’t be wise to complain. “You know I can’t do any of this stuff, right?”

  She nodded. “You’ll have plenty of support. The important thing is, I need you in there. You’ll be doing important work.”

  “In where?”

  “In the office of Rod Dello,” she said. “Dentist.”

  “You really want me to break into the safe of a dentist?” I asked with an incredulous chuckle.

  “I believe he has something very important in there,” she said coolly. “It is imperative that we get the contents.”

  “Without him knowing,” I said.

  “Incredibly important.”

  I frowned. “I don’t have to go sticking my hands in people’s mouths or anything?” I shuddered at the disgusting thought.

  It was her turn to laugh. “After some of the things you’ve done, Miss Lee? I would think that oral hygiene would be a walk in the park for you.”

  I winced at the reminder of some of the disgusting things I’ve had to do.

  “But you don’t have to,” she assured me. “As I said, you’re being hired on a purely secretarial basis.”

  “And why would he hire me?”

  “We’ve already taken care of that,” she said mysteriously.

  Knowing from experience that she wasn’t about to give me any more information than she had to, I just nodded. “What time is my interview?”

  “In fifteen minutes,” she said. “You’d better get over there.” She got out of the car and then looked back at me. “Nice shoes.”

  “My niece picked them out,” I admitted.

  She smiled, a genuine smile, one that changed her expression so dramatically that I found myself staring at her.

  “I’m always impressed with the things you’re willing to do for your family, Ms. Lee.” She walked toward her car.

  “This should be a piece of cake,” I muttered under my breath. “All I have to do is walk in and convince whoever’s interviewing me that I’m actually a competent secretary with experience in…” I glanced at my supposed resume. “Medical billing.”

  “She said it had been taken care of,” God reminded me.

  I wasn’t feeling very confident when I walked into the office of Rod Dello. In truth, I’m not overly fond of dentists. I don’t think many people are.

  “Breathe,” God coached on a whisper. He was once again hidden in my bra, providing moral support as I tried to do this impossible task. A stern, heavyset woman marched toward me. She was clothed in pink scrubs covered with unicorns, a direct contrast to her scowling face. I fought back the urge to laugh nervously.

  “You’re the applicant?” she asked curtly.

  I nodded, holding my resume out to her. She rolled her eyes and, without taking it, motioned for me to follow her.

  “This way,” she said. “The doctor will see you now.”

  13

  I was telling Piss about how Rod Dello was the single most unassuming man I’d ever met, both from his appearance and his attitude. “The man wears what mig
ht be an official replica of Mr. Rogers’s sweater.”

  I groaned the moment I saw a flashing light in my rearview mirror and realized I was being pulled over.

  “Were you speeding?” God asked, an unspoken accusation in his tone.

  “I don’t think so,” I muttered, keeping half an eye on the rearview mirror and the rest of my attention on the shoulder of the road I was pulling onto. When I reached a stop, the unmarked police car pulled up alongside me.

  “Are you up for a stakeout, Mags?” Patrick called.

  I frowned. “It’s only noon.”

  “You think, what, that all bad things happen after dark?” he asked.

  “I’m not dressed for a stakeout,” I told him.

  “There is no uniform for a stakeout,” he told me.

  I sighed heavily, knowing I wasn’t going to get out of the task. I’d already had a busy morning, what with the cemetery visit and then the interview that hadn’t ended up being an interview, just Rod Dello welcoming me to his staff and asking what my favorite kind of donut was. When I replied a cruller, he’d grinned and said, “You’re hired, you start tomorrow.”

  I’d hoped to take the rest of the afternoon off, but now Patrick said he needed me. There was nothing like being torn in half a dozen directions.

  “How long will this take?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “You don’t know how long stakeouts take.”

  “I’m asking,” I told him through gritted teeth, “because I’ve got to get back to Griswald about something.”

  “An hour, two tops,” Patrick wheedled. “Please, Mags.”

  Shaking my head, I agreed. “Fine.”

  “Follow me,” he said with a cheeky grin. He drove off, forcing me to have to rush to catch up with him.

  “You shouldn’t be getting yourself involved in police business,” God opined.

  “And I can’t tell Patrick no,” I countered.

  “Yes, you can,” he said.