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

by JB Lynn

  “I’m scared, Maggie.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of whoever killed the chicken. What if it was one of my old johns?”

  I considered that possibility for a moment. She had dealt with some unsavory types during her time as a prostitute, including a pimp who’d gone after her once she’d left that life behind, but I didn’t think it was her past that was catching up with her. It was more likely that it was Belgard.

  “I don’t think whoever it was is after you,” I told her honestly. “You’re not the only one in this family with enemies.”

  “Do you think they’re after Templeton?” she sniffled against my shoulder.

  “Could be. Or one of Loretta’s exes.”

  “Lord knows she has enough of them,” Marlene teased. “Or maybe Leslie stiffed one of her pot dealers.”

  “Maybe,” I murmured.

  She pulled back. “Thanks, Maggie. I feel a lot better. I’m going to see what Katie wants for breakfast.” She hurried out of the room.

  I cast a longing look at the coffeemaker, but grabbed a large black trash bag and headed back outside.

  Angel was standing beside the coop he’d built just days before. “I can do this.” He reached out, indicating I should hand him the bag.

  “It’s my responsibility.” I snapped the plastic bag open with more energy than was necessary.

  “You don’t have to do everything yourself,” he said quietly.

  Glancing over, I saw that his forehead was furrowed with worry lines.

  “I’ve got this,” I assured him with a fake smile. I approached the chicken. “Sorry we didn’t get a chance to get to know each other better.”

  I was pretty sure that I heard Angel choke, but I didn’t look at him.

  “You were a sweet bird,” I continued. I took a deep breath to fortify myself, reached out, grabbed her by her broken neck and heaved her lifeless body into the garbage bag as bile rose in my throat.

  She hit the ground with a solid thunk.

  Dropping the bag, I turned away and bent over, ready to be sick.

  “Breathe, Maggie.” Angel patted the spot between my shoulder blades.

  I tried to suck in some air, but my lungs burned.

  “Breathe out first. Then breathe in.”

  Doing what he suggested, I was able to take in some much-needed oxygen.

  “There you go,” Angel soothed. “Out and in. Out and in.”

  “I’m okay,” I gasped.

  “You keep telling yourself that.”

  I tried to straighten, but instead swayed weakly.

  Angel caught me against him to keep me from falling. “You should have let me do it.”

  “Because I’m a helpless woman?” I pushed away from him.

  “Because you’re a sensitive person who’s had a scare,” he countered quietly, his gaze raking over me.

  “Right is he,” DeeDee barked softly.

  “See?” Angel said with a smile. “Even the dog agrees.”

  “I’m not scared,” I insisted. “I told you, I’m pissed.”

  “You just don’t deal well with death?”

  When he put it like that, I sounded like the world’s wimpiest assassin. “Something like that.”

  Bending, he picked up the bag and twirled it around so that he could tie it closed. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

  “It’s not in your job description to help me,” I reminded him sharply.

  “Fine,” he snapped back. “Then at least tell me so that I can help keep Katie safe. Or isn’t that a concern?”

  I blinked and took a step back, caught off-guard by his attack. “Of course I care.”

  “Then stop making decisions based on pride and start using your brain.”

  Hefting the bag over his shoulder, he marched toward where the trash cans were kept.

  “Angry Angel?” DeeDee panted, trotting over and pressing her snout against my hand.

  “It would appear that way.”

  “Hey, wait!” I called after him.

  He stopped and turned back.

  “We can’t just toss her out with the trash. Katie’s going to be heartbroken. We’ve got to have a memorial service or something for DinDin.”

  To his credit, he didn’t laugh at me, though the corners of his mouth did twitch upward.

  “Katie was in a coma when her parents died.” I could hear a note of desperate hysteria creeping into my voice. “She deserves some closure.”

  Angel nodded. “I’ll build a coffin and have a service or whatever here. Then we’ll tell her we took her to where chickens are buried.”

  I eyed him doubtfully.

  “Kids her age believe in Santa, the Easter Bunny and the tooth fairy. Why wouldn’t she believe in a chicken cemetery?” Angel countered.

  I nodded, accepting his logic. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll put the bird in the back for now.” He strolled away.

  I closed my eyes for a second and took a deep breath needing to center myself. Peace was elusive.

  “You’re here!” a woman cried.

  Snapping my eyes open, I turned to find Armani limping toward me, hair uncombed, eyes wild.

  My stomach dropped. “What’s wrong?”

  “I had a dream. The most terrible dream, chica.” Armani’s whole body, along with her voice, shook.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Calm down,” I urged.

  Angel returned, assessed the situation immediately, grabbed a lawn chair and ran up to Armani with it. “Sit.”

  Unlike me, Armani doesn’t stumble over her pride. She did what was suggested.

  “I’ll get one for you too,” Angel said.

  While he went to get the chair, I hurried to Armani’s side and grabbed her good hand. “What’s wrong?”

  Instead of answering, she fumbled in her pocket, finally withdrawing a folded piece of paper. She offered it to me silently, as though it contained all the answers.

  I hesitated to take it. The last time she’d drawn something from one of her visions, Teresa had died in that car accident.

  Angel put a chair down for me and one for himself.

  My hand trembled as I took the piece of paper. My legs were weak as I sank onto the chair.

  I unfolded it slowly and examined the sketch, done in pencil. It looked like a series of dull swords with chunks of impaled flesh skewered on the blades. My throat tightened and it was hard for me to say, “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t either,” Armani confessed. “All I know is that’s what I saw, that it had to do with you, and that it frightened me. I came right over to warn you.”

  “Warn me about what?”

  She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. It seemed important. I know you don’t believe but--”

  “Katie said 'Help me, Rhonda' last night,” I interrupted.

  Armani sat back in her chair. “Really?”

  I nodded.

  “Sorry,” Angel interrupted, “but what the hell does that have to do with anything.”

  “Armani predicted it and it came true.” I didn’t add that the prediction about resonance had also panned out.

  He held out his hand, silently asking to see the sketch. Instead of giving it to him, I folded it up.

  “Where’s the chicken?” Armani asked, eyeing the empty coop.

  “Murdered,” I muttered.

  “Murdered!” Armani’s eyes grew wide. “Maybe it was that Lamb guy. The one who shot all those people.”

  I rolled my eyes. “He’s in jail. Besides, why would he kill a chicken?”

  Armani replied, “A sacrifice? Maybe it was his devil worshipper friends.”

  I shook my head. “Where do you get this stuff?”

  “Well, how do you explain it?”

  “Someone snapped her neck.”

  “Oh, that’s bad juju. Very bad juju. You should go back to the shaman.”

  “And do what? Tell him tha
t even though I refused to kill the bird, someone else did?”

  “Shaman?” Angel asked, his voice cracking with confusion.

  Armani reached into her pocket again and pulled out a purple cloth bag.

  “No,” I said vehemently.

  “No, what?” Angel asked, his eyes darting between us as though he couldn’t tell which of us would lose it first.

  “It’s the best way.” Armani shook the bag. The wooden tiles inside clattered against one another. She held it out to me. “Draw, chica.”

  I hesitated.

  “It do,” DeeDee urged.

  Angel watched the proceedings with a mixture of fascination and horror.

  Grudgingly, I pulled out seven Scrabble tiles. I held them in my hand, unwilling to give them to the psychic who sat across from me.

  “It won’t work unless you give them back,” Armani said.

  “This is stupid.” I moved to put the tiles back in the bag.

  “Don’t!” Armani shouted.

  I froze.

  “You need to know,” she insisted.

  Sighing, I dropped them into her open, outstretched palm.

  She placed them, letter up, across her lap, putting them in alphabetical order.

  A B C L M T U

  Armani studied them carefully.

  “Is that supposed to mean something?” Angel asked finally.

  “Maybe you need to take a bath,” she replied.

  He leaned back in his seat, offended. “I shower.”

  “Not you.” She winked at him seductively. “But I’ll give you my number in case you ever want company in that shower of yours.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  Angel looked decidedly embarrassed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  I couldn’t help but grin as Armani got under the no-nonsense Navy guy’s skin. My smile disappeared when she turned her attention to me. “You should take a bath, chica.”

  “I shower too,” I joked weakly.

  She shook her head. “Look.” She moved the letters around so that they spelled CALM TUB.

  I didn’t see how taking a bath could help me, but I didn’t say that. I’d been a recipient of Armani’s predictions long enough to know they almost always gave me answers when I needed them.

  “Maybe it just means she should just chill out,” Angel suggested, moving the letters so that they said CALM BUT. “Calm your butt down.”

  I chuckled.

  Armani slapped his hand away. “Don’t make light of this, my chica is in danger. She can’t afford to relax. She must remain vigilant.”

  “In a calm bath?” I teased.

  She threw up her hands. “I’ve done my part. I’ve warned you.” Standing up, she limped away.

  Angel and I watched her go.

  “You know,” he mused, “I thought that life at my family’s house was weird, but it doesn’t hold a candle to things here.”

  I nodded, knowing too well how overwhelming my world could be. “You can always leave,” I offered.

  “I’d rather see the sketch.”

  I glanced sideways at DeeDee hoping she’d provide a distraction.

  “Hungry! Hungry!” she began to bark excitedly, as though she knew just what I needed.

  “I’ve got to feed her.” I stood up. “Thanks for…everything.”

  His response wasn’t much more than a dissatisfied grunt.

  Griswald was pouring himself a cup of coffee when I walked into the kitchen with the dog.

  “Welcome back,” I said cheerily while I fed DeeDee. “We missed you.”

  He raised his eyebrows and sipped his coffee before speaking. “I’m guessing that your father has something to do with the animosity with Kevin Belgard.”

  I picked up an empty cup, shrugged and composed my answer carefully. “It might. Is this going to affect--?”

  The Marshal shook his head and held out the coffee pot. “No. You can still talk to him.”

  “Thank you.” I waited for him to fill my cup, but he didn’t.

  “But I want something in return from you.”

  I looked up and saw that his expression was just as stern as his voice.

  “What?” I asked nervously.

  “You tell me why you’re afraid of Belgard.”

  I put my coffee cup, still empty, down on the counter.

  “You tell me or I’ll ask Susan,” he threatened.

  “I’m not sure she knows,” I responded honestly.

  “Knows what?”

  I hesitated. Pulling a U.S. Marshal into my investigation of Belgard wasn’t the best of ideas, but I couldn’t afford to put my family in danger by not telling him.

  “Maggie? I know it’s hard to trust me, but--”

  “I trust you,” I interrupted. “My mother blames him for what happened to Darlene.”

  Griswald’s eyebrows knit together.

  “Whatever her opinion is worth.” I shrugged. Without waiting for him to respond, I went back outside, the dog trailing behind.

  Angel was already dismantling the chicken coop, muscles bulging as he swung his hammer. He glanced over at me. “Did you tell Katie about DinDin?”

  “Not yet. There’s something I wanted to tell you first.”

  He put the hammer down and wiped his palms on his jeans, giving me his full attention. “Shoot.”

  “Belgard, the detective who showed up.”

  Angel grew unnaturally still. “The slimy guy?”

  “He…Did you know Marlene is a twin?”

  Angel blinked. “No.”

  I nodded. “She is. Was. Her sister is Darlene.”

  “Sorry, I’m not following.”

  “My mother blames Belgard for Darlene’s disappearance. That day you and I met and she’d attacked me? That was because of him.”

  He let out a low whistle.

  “Of course, you have to consider that the source of that info resides in the loony bin, so I don’t know how much credence you want to give her story.”

  Angel nodded slowly. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t like Belgard. Something about him…Anyway, I’m telling you so that you know to keep Katie away from him.”

  “Done.”

  “Thanks.” I sighed heavily. “Now I’ve got to go tell her about the chicken.” I turned to head back into the house.

  “Maggie?”

  I turned around.

  “I’m glad you told me.” Angel smiled.

  “Me too,” I admitted.

  And I was. It felt good to have shared that particular burden with two men I trusted.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t help with any of my other problems.

  Chapter Seventeen

  As expected, explaining DinDin’s death to Katie did not go smoothly. There were tears and a tantrum, and once again I was struck by the fact that I’m not cut out for this mothering stuff. If DeeDee hadn’t been there to comfort the child, I don’t know what would have happened.

  I left the kid and dog together, ran down to the basement, dressed for the day, invited God to come along, and ran out of the house.

  Angel, Griswald, and Templeton stood in the driveway, doing that thing that men do when they put their hands on their hips and survey their mini-kingdoms.

  “I’m late for school,” I shouted as I jumped into my car, gunned the engine, and sped away.

  I got to real estate school just in time to take a practice test.

  I aced it and managed to not fall asleep during a lecture about personal mortgage insurance, otherwise known as PMI.

  God, on the other hand, snored through it, which made it sound like I’d developed some horrible breathing disorder. I didn’t bother to wake him since I didn’t give a whit what the people in the room thought of me.