The Hitwoman and the Sacrificial Lamb: Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman Book 12

by JB Lynn

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “Neither do I,” he reminded me with a gentle smile.

  Suddenly I had the urge to rest my cheek on his shoulder the way Piss was doing. There was something comforting about being around someone who was straightforward and didn’t have any kind of hidden agenda.

  “I must admit there’s a motive behind my bringing you coffee.”

  I flinched. So much for not having a hidden agenda. “What’s that?”

  “Just how opposed would your aunts be to having music brought in here?”

  I blinked, surprised by the question. “Why? Are you and your friends thinking of holding practice for your band in the foyer after school?”

  He chuckled. “No. I was thinking it could help Katie.”

  I sat up straighter. “Help her how?”

  “A couple ways. Being exposed to rhythm has been shown to help with gait.”

  He paused, not saying what we were both thinking. Katie lurched around like a drunken sailor.

  “Plus,” he continued, glossing over the fact my niece needed some serious help, “if she plays something, it could help her eye-hand coordination and would facilitate using both sides of her brain. The cognitive neuroscience of music is something that researchers are studying.”

  “Sounds good.” I wasn’t even sure what cognitive neuroscience was, but it sounded like a good thing. I glanced at the man beside me, reminding myself that he was more than a pretty face and a smoking hot body.

  “But your aunts may not…”

  “I’ll deal with them,” I interrupted fiercely. “Katie deserves the best and I’m going to make sure she’s got it.”

  “Okay. Like I said, I just wanted to run it past you first.” He gently laid the cat down on the cushion between us.

  “I appreciate that,” I said sincerely. “And this.” I toasted him with the nearly empty mug.

  He nodded. “You’re the boss.”

  I snorted. “No one else thinks that.”

  “Oh, they all know it.” He stood up. “They’re just not used to it. They’re trying.”

  I looked up at him. “So now you’re advocating for them too?”

  He shook his head. “I’m recommending that you don’t make it a ‘you against the world’ thing.” Sadness flickered in his gaze and regret laced his tone. “Trust me, no one wins with that scenario.” Then, as though he realized he’d revealed more than he’d meant to, he shook his head and flashed a million-dollar grin. “You’d better hurry up. You don’t want to be late to class.”

  He quickly raced up the stairs and closed the door to the kitchen behind him, leaving me alone with the cat and the lizard.

  “Is that what I’m doing?” I asked Piss. “Am I making everything me against the world?”

  She mewled softly and rubbed the top of her head against the length of my thigh.

  I took that to mean “yes”.

  Sighing, I swallowed the remainder of the coffee and finished getting ready to leave.

  “You’re coming with me,” I told God, walking over to the terrarium and holding out my hand so that I could lift him up.

  He didn’t look too happy about that. He made no move to climb aboard.

  “How can I know if I’ve found the right resonance without you?”

  Hearing that, he scampered up my arm and settled in on my shoulder.

  “We’ll find the solution,” I promised the animals.

  I wasn’t sure if anyone, including myself, believed me.

  Chapter Nine

  Real estate school was boring. You’d think that after spending years taking automobile accident claims at Insuring the Future, a job I hated, I’d have found the change at least mildly interesting. But I didn’t.

  It just felt like a new kind of hell. As I sat there hour after hour, I worried that I’d made a terrible mistake accepting a part-time job at a real estate office.

  Until the old crone, who’d have made a great witch in another life, what with her pointy nose and giant hair-sprouting mole on her chin, got to the part about ethics.

  Now, I’ve killed people for money, albeit for good reasons, so I consider myself to be ethically-challenged, so I sat up and paid attention to this section of the instruction.

  I was disappointed that it ended up being less about doing the right thing and more about “how to cover your ass”.

  Most of it was common sense. Some of it seemed deceitful.

  Then we got to the bit about death and ghosts. That was more my speed.

  “Are we obligated to tell a potential buyer that someone died in the house?” the heavy-set blonde who smelled of cheap hairspray and cheaper cigarettes asked.

  The crone considered this for a moment. “Not legally,” she began slowly.

  “Knew it!” Stinky declared, holding up her hand so that the guy sitting next to her could high-five her.

  He, a buttoned-up former civil servant, looked repulsed by the idea of contact with her. He quickly averted his gaze, leaving her with her hand hanging mid-air.

  Not to be deterred, she high-fived herself with her other hand, which was really just a single, pathetic, overhead clap.

  “Not legally,” the crone continued when Stinky was done with her self-congratulatory celebration. “But ethically…you might want to.”

  Stinky frowned. “Why?”

  “Ghosts!” the drab, mousy woman next to me declared. It was the first time she’d spoken for the entire class.

  “Ghosts?” Stinky asked.

  “Would you want to move into a house with ghosts?” Mousy asked.

  “I’d want my commission,” Stinky countered. “It’s all about the ka-ching, baby.”

  The civil servant inched his chair away from her.

  “You could be sued,” Mousy argued. She looked to the instructor for validation. “Isn’t that right?”

  The crone nodded. “It has happened.”

  “What if a murder has taken place there,” the kid who barely looked old enough to drive asked excitedly.

  “Doesn’t that mean that someone died there?” I muttered beneath my breath.

  Mousy, the only one who heard me, tittered.

  “Listen,” Stinky fluffed her hairsprayed hair as though it helped to make her point, “New Jersey has some really old houses. George Washington died here and shit.”

  The kid nodded knowingly.

  “No, he didn’t,” I interjected. I’d been silent during all the idiotic questions about the rules and regs, and I’d held my tongue when people hadn’t been able to perform the simplest of calculations…even with the help of the calculators on their smart phones, but this was too much to just let go.

  “Did too,” Stinky countered, like she was three years old.

  I sucked in a breath and attempted to sound firm and calm. “He most certainly did not.”

  “How do you know?” Stinky glared at me through her layers of mascara and eyeliner.

  “I paid attention in fourth grade,” I snapped. “He died in Virginia.”

  “You’re half right,” the kid said, reading his phone’s screen. “He died in Mount Vernon.”

  “That’s in Virginia!” the civil servant shouted, unable to contain his frustration.

  I gave him a thumbs up.

  Stinky rolled her eyes. “People are so touchy about history. Anyway, people have died. All over the state they’ve crossed the Rainbow Bridge.”

  “Ummm,” Mousy murmured. “The Rainbow Bridge is for pets.”

  “That’s true,” the kid agreed. “My mom told me that my dog, Éclair, will meet me at the Rainbow Bridge when I die.”

  “Aha!” Stinky yelled as though she was Sherlock Holmes and had just solved the mystery of life. “So it’s for people too.”

  “People are animals,” the civil servant muttered.

  I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who heard the sarcasm in his tone.

  “So,” Stinky concluded, “George Washington crossed the Rainb
ow Bridge. I knew it!” Then she paused dramatically before adding with awe, “Does that mean the George Washington Bridge is really the Rainbow Bridge?”

  Silence fell over the room.

  I know that civil servant guy and I were wondering how someone with Stinky’s excuse for a brain could get a license to operate a moving vehicle, but I suspected that the kid and Mousy might be soaking in her wisdom.

  I glanced at the crone and saw she looked a little shell-shocked by the whole exchange. To her credit, she blinked a couple of times, and rallied. “As I was saying, while you’re legally not bound to disclose a death, ethically, in the name of treating buyers fairly, you might want to.”

  “Like if it’s a grisly murder?” the kid asked enthusiastically.

  “Yes,” the crone agreed tiredly. “Especially then.”

  I’m not sure who was more glad that it was break time, the teacher or me. All I know is that when I got out to the parking lot, I made a beeline to my car, peeled out of there, and didn’t return to the class that day.

  I did it for their protection as much as for my sanity. I was sorely tempted to add a few of them to my mental list of people I wanted to kill.

  Chapter Ten

  Since I had a couple of extra hours suddenly free, I went to the library and read every article I could find about Kevin Belgard, who, it just so happened, was the arresting officer in the Lamb case.

  He may be a decorated cop, and a pillar of the community, but I suspected he was involved in Darlene’s abduction and I wasn’t about to rest until I figured out how. All my cyber-sleuthing showed that he had an ex-wife, Corrine. I tracked down her address and found that she lived on the other side of town. Not far from where Patrick and I had our assignation.

  It seemed strange that she lived in such a depressed area and her ex had kept the marital home. I made a note as to where to find Corrine. Talking to her would be the next step in my investigation.

  When I finished at the library, I headed over to my new employer since I needed someone from the office to sign off on a form for the licensing class.

  When I arrived, I spotted Armani’s car. I sighed, not wanting to talk to her. It was already a challenging day and I needed some downtime, not a psychic rant or whatever else she’d no doubt use to overwhelm me.I hesitated for a moment, considering leaving. It only took that short amount of time for her to pop out of the old house that housed the real estate office, spot me, and wave wildly with her good hand.

  Grudgingly I waved back, knowing I was trapped.

  Dragging myself out of the car, I pasted on a smile.

  “How’s the chicken, chica?” Armani called.

  “Good. Angel built her a coop and Katie named her.”

  Armani shook her head, her glossy dark hair undulating like a curtain of silk. “You should have just killed it.”

  My smile slipped.

  “Why do you need to talk to the animals anyway?” she asked.

  I held my breath. No one knew I could talk to animals. If there was anyone who should understand, it would be my psychic friend. Still, I couldn’t risk her telling someone normal about my claim. “You’re the one who burst in and told me I had to talk to the shaman about talking to animals,” I reminded her.

  “But I don’t understand it.” She frowned, wrinkles furrowing the space between her eyebrows.

  “I don’t understand most of what you say,” I said lightly. “How’s the job going?” I pointed at the house, hoping to distract her.

  “Come see.” She waved me closer. “It’s phenomenal. Prepare to be amazed.”

  “That’s what I like about you,” I chuckled as I climbed the stairs and stood beside her. “You’re so humble.”

  She swatted my arm. “The design is all Tara. She’s the creative brain. I’m just the business instigator.”

  “Facilitator,” I corrected, reaching to open the door.

  Armani blew a raspberry. “Facilitators are helpful. I make trouble, that makes me an instigator.”

  “You can say that again,” I agreed.

  Before I could open the door, she stopped me. “I almost forgot. I keep hearing The Beach Boys.”

  I looked at her sharply. There’d been a time when she’d heard ‘Ice, Ice Baby’ and ignored it. That’s when an out-of-control Zamboni had run her over, leaving her with her lasting injuries. “What song?”

  “‘Help me, Rhonda’.”

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “What does that mean?”

  She shrugged. “Don’t know. But I don’t know a Rhonda. Do you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, I’m guessing that one of us needs her help…or she needs ours.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that.

  Chapter Eleven

  As soon as I left the real estate office, which I had to admit was looking way better due to Armani and Tara, and got back into my car, I scooped God out of my bra.

  “This might be it,” I said excitedly as I placed him on the dashboard.

  Using my cell phone, I quickly searched for a recording of ‘Help Me, Rhonda’ explaining, “This song. Maybe the reason Armani told me about it is that it contains the resonance I need to hear you again.”

  He looked at me with wide eyes, but made no effort to communicate.

  “Hold that thought.” I held up a finger to silence him and then played the song. Holding my breath, hoping that it would provide the key to hearing my little buddy again.

  The lizard bobbed his head to the beat of the song, really getting into it.

  “Can I hear you now?” I asked as soon as the last strains faded away.

  He squeaked.

  I leaned my head against the steering wheel and groaned. “What the hell is the point of listening to the stupid song if it doesn’t help?”

  The lizard, of course, didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

  My phone buzzed and I glared at it. I really wasn’t in the mood to talk to Aunt Susan, but I answered it anyway. “Yeah?”

  “Margaret?”

  “You were expecting someone else?”

  “I was expecting you to say hello like a civilized person.”

  I considered hanging up on her, but instead, I did the mature thing, took a deep breath and asked as politely as I could, “Did you want something?”

  “Can you meet me in an hour? I have three appointments lined up with occupational therapists.”

  “That was fast.”

  “I’m efficient,” she replied dryly. “Can you make it?”

  “Of course. Text me the address?”

  “Already did.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you there.” Before ending the call I added, “And thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Margaret. Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye.” I waited for her to disconnect the call just so she couldn’t claim I’d hung up on her. I glanced at the address she’d sent and then looked at the lizard lounging dejectedly on the dash. “Let’s go stalk Kevin Belgard’s ex.”

  He perked up at that and scampered up my offered palm, straight up to my shoulder, where he perched contentedly.

  I punched the address for the cop’s ex-wife into my GPS and took off across town. As I’d already assessed, her home was not in the nicest of neighborhoods and I double-checked to make sure my locks were secured as I coasted down her block.

  “How did he keep that house while she ended up in this hovel?” I asked as I slowly rolled past the building where she lived.

  I parked down the street and stared at her place. I wasn’t sure what I was hoping to see, but it seemed like a waste to just do a drive-by. My patience was rewarded when a few minutes later a woman emerged from the apartment. She glanced nervously around before making her way to the street.

  Slowly, so as not to spook her, I followed from a distance, God watching from his lookout post on my shoulder his body posture that of a hunting dog zeroing in on his prey.

  “Look at us, tailing a suspect.”

 
God squeaked something.

  “I know, I know, she’s not a suspect,” I agreed.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw God spun around on my shoulder. He started squeaking excitedly.