Hit List

by Darcia Helle

  He found her in the living room, sitting in her rocking chair. She rocked slowly while staring at the blank television screen. Something she did quite often.

  At least she was still dressed. She’d actually been in a responsive mood when he’d arrived home. He’d told her they were having company. He’d said only that a friend was coming over to talk to them, to see if she could help. His mother had been receptive. In fact, she’d seemed excited. Now he hoped that mood would last.

  Ian crossed the room and sat on the sofa. He smiled, doing his best to appear more relaxed than he felt. He asked, “How are you doing, ma?”

  “I’m fine,” Corinne replied. She rocked a bit faster. “I made coffee. And I put cookies on a platter. The ones you love, the Milano cookies from Pepperidge Farm. Does your friend like Milano cookies?”

  “I’m sure she does.”

  “You don’t know?”

  Ian raised his palms to the air but he kept his smile in place. “We haven’t talked about her preference in cookies.”

  “Martha Stewart would make her own cookies for a guest.”

  “No, Martha Stewart would have her chef bake the cookies while her housekeeper cleaned the house,” Ian said.

  “You’re probably right.”

  Ian was about to stand – he felt the need to pace – when his mother asked, “What exactly is it that your friend is coming to help us with?”

  He slumped back against the sofa, opened his mouth, closed it again. How was he supposed to respond to that? She’s going to try to help us find your sanity? Somehow he didn’t think that would go over well.

  How much did his mother understand about her situation? Was she always aware that she was repressing memories? Or sometimes aware of it?

  She was staring at him, waiting for an answer. He opened his mouth again, said, “Well…”

  God or Buddha or maybe his guardian angel saved him just then with the intrusion of the doorbell. Ian sprang from the sofa. He made it to the front door without having a heart attack or a stroke. The downside of being saved. He pulled open the front door, his face registering every bit of panic he was feeling. He knew because of the way Lucianna’s expression changed, her eyes growing wide, and the step back that she took.

  Ian moved onto the stoop, partially closing the door behind him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just feeling a little out of control. I’m not sure how to explain this to my mother without her, well, without causing her to…”

  Lucianna smiled in that wondrous way she had. “It’s okay,” she said. “No need to explain.”

  Her voice soothed him. She looked amazing. Those long legs hugged by tight black jeans. A deep green sweater brought out her eyes. A casual outfit. Yet he was instantly aroused.

  “Are you having second thoughts about doing this?” Lucianna asked.

  She had taken a step closer. She was a good six inches shorter than he was, petite but far from fragile. He could smell her hair. A light citrus scent. Inside his head, he told himself how incredibly sexy she was. How he’d love to hold her, spend the night getting to know her. What he said out loud was “No, no second thoughts.”

  “Okay. Good.”

  “Before we go in, I should mention that I haven’t exactly told my mother what you do for a living. She thinks you’re a friend here to help.”

  “We can work with that.”

  Ian nodded, shoved the door open, and motioned for Lucianna to go in ahead of him. As he pushed the door closed, he reminded himself that he needed to focus. The important thing was to help his mother. Then he watched Lucianna’s ass as she crossed the room and knew he was doomed.

  ***

  Introductions had been made. Drinks and cookies had been served. Polite small talk had about worn itself out. Ian’s knee bounced up and down like a basketball on speed. He kept putting his hand on his leg, trying to calm the motion. A futile effort.

  He had no clue how he was going to ease into the subject of that one day over three months ago. So far his mother had been coherent. But setting her off was so easy. And so unpredictable.

  They had been discussing the beautiful weather. Early autumn in Massachusetts. The leaves were changing and flurries of color were everywhere. Corinne suddenly smiled brightly at Lucianna and said, “I like talking to you. You’re nothing like Cindy."

  Lucianna darted a questioning glance at Ian. “Cindy?”

  Ian wanted to crawl behind the couch, as he had when he was young and his parents were fighting. He avoided Lucianna’s eyes and said, “Ma, we don’t need to go there.”

  Corinne waved him off. She stopped rocking, leaned closer to Lucianna. “Cindy and Ian dated. But not anymore. So now I can say it. Cindy is a bitch.”

  Lucianna broke into laughter. Ian wriggled further into his seat. Next his mother would be dragging out his naked baby pictures.

  Corinne began rocking again. She looked down at her feet, then started to softly chant, “Shoes, shoes, shoes…”

  Ian grimaced. Lucianna caught his eye, smiled at him. She then turned back to Corinne and said, “Personally, I prefer to be barefoot.”

  Corinne rocked harder, then slowed to a stop. She turned to Lucianna, studied her for a moment, and asked, “You’re here to help us?”

  “Yes,” Lucianna replied.

  Corinne nodded. “Good.”

  “Would it be okay for me to ask you some questions?”

  The rocking started again. Corinne looked to Ian. He reached for her hand, squeezed it gently. “It’s okay, ma,” he said.

  “Questions.” Corinne rocked, repeating the word several times. Then she sighed and said, “You want to know why I’ve gone crazy.”

  Lucianna kept her tone soft. “I’d like to understand why it’s so painful for you to remember.”

  “Dr. Hartley wants me to talk about it.”

  “Is that your psychiatrist?” Lucianna asked.

  Ian raked a hand through his hair. “Dr. Hartley is from that old TV show. Bob Newhart.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Lucianna replied. She said this as if that was a perfectly logical explanation.

  “He’s not really Dr. Hartley,” Corinne said. “He looks like Dr. Hartley. But he’s not as nice. In fact, I think I make him angry sometimes.”

  Ian said, “He’s just frustrated because he can’t help you, ma.”

  Corinne rolled her eyes. “I may be crazy but I am not stupid. He’s not a nice man. Not like Dr. Hartley.”

  Lucianna had slid further up the couch, closer to Corinne. She was leaning forward now, talking in soft and gentle tones. “That must be uncomfortable for you.”

  “Dr. Endicott,” Corinne said. “That’s his name.”

  “What does Dr. Endicott say?” Lucianna asked.

  “Nothing really.” Corinne rocked faster, slowed, stared at the blank television. Then she turned back to Lucianna. “Lucianna. Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I call you Luci?”

  “If you’d like.”

  “Do your friends call you Luci?”

  “Many of them call me Lu.”

  “They call you Lu?”

  “Yes. Thanks to my uncle.”

  “Lucianna fits you,” Corinne said. “Very exotic. I can see why Ian is attracted to you.”

  Ian squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head. His one consolation was that his mother hadn’t slipped completely off the edge. Although the embarrassment with that may have been more tolerable.

  “Ian doesn’t believe I see them,” Corinne said. She rocked faster, began chanting. “See them, see them…”

  “But he does believe you,” Lucianna replied over the chanting. “That’s why I’m here.”

  For a moment Corinne didn’t appear to have heard. She continued chanting. Then the rocking slowed, the chanting stopped. She turned to Ian, the question in her eyes. He saw the desperation there and swallowed back the lump in his throat. Nodding, he said, “That’s true, ma.”

  Corinn
e then turned to Lucianna and said quietly, “I’m scared.”

  Lucianna reached out, took Corinne’s hand in hers. “I know. But you don’t have to do this alone. Ian and I are going to help you now. Will you let us help you?”

  A tear slid down Corinne’s cheek. She was trembling. Ian knelt beside her, took her other hand. He said, “It’s going to be okay.”

  Corinne nodded, then began to softly chant, “Help me, help me…”

  Her eyes slid out of focus. After a few moments, Ian stood. He glanced at Lucianna, finding it hard to meet her eyes. “I think she’s had all she can take for tonight.”

  Lucianna nodded. To Corinne she said, “I’ll be back soon. Ian has my number. You can call me anytime.”

  At the door, Ian handed Lucianna a piece of paper. “These are the friends I know she was close to. And the address where she worked.”

  “What about family?”

  “She has one sister but they haven’t seen each other in a long time. It seems that Holly can’t handle my mother’s… situation.”

  “Were they close before?” Lucianna asked.

  Ian shrugged. “They saw each other a few times a month. My mother would cook a big family dinner. But I wouldn’t have considered them really close. Not since they were younger. Holly has been more into herself than anything else.” He sighed, glanced back at his mother. “Do you think you’ll be able to help?”

  “I’ll do my absolute best,” Lucianna said. “Tomorrow I’ll talk to these people and see what I can dig up. I’d like to meet with your mom again in a few days, if that’s okay.”

  Ian let out a slow breath. Relief was too mild a word to explain the weight that had just lifted from him. “Sure. You were really good with her.”

  Lucianna gave him one of those dazzling smiles that sent a flood of warmth to his toes. She said, “I’ll be in touch.”

  He watched her climb into her car, waited while she started the engine and pulled out of the driveway. He was still standing in the doorway when darkness and distance swallowed the last of her taillights.

  Chapter 11

  No wife should see pictures of her husband with his tongue stuck down another woman’s throat. Not to mention his hands squeezing her firm young ass. But pictures were what the wife wanted. And what Lucianna had been paid to supply.

  She stuffed the newly developed pictures into the manila envelope, along with a copy of her report. She had an appointment with the wife, Karen Hadley, this afternoon at a coffee shop across town. Although why anyone would choose to receive this type of information in public, rather than a private place, was beyond her. She’d long since learned not to question people’s motives. The job was easier that way.

  Once that fiasco was over, she had a string of appointments that would keep her busy into early evening. Two of Corinne’s closest friends had agreed to talk to her. Then she’d be meeting with Corinne’s coworkers. Someone had to know something that would help. People didn’t simply go crazy for lack of anything better to do with their Sunday.

  Lucianna grabbed the manila envelope, ready to deal with Karen Hadley and whatever emotional display occurred when the woman was faced with the reality of the photos. Not one of the better aspects of her job.

  As she crossed her office, her uncle Vinnie poked his head in the door. “Sorry,” he said. “But you have to take this call.”

  Vinnie happened to be her receptionist, as well as her assistant. He had retired from the army nearly fifteen years ago, when his wife Mary had gotten sick with cancer. He’d taken care of her, refusing to let even hospice take over, until her death that following year.

  At that point he’d thrown himself into work. Vinnie put his military experience to use by becoming a cop. He’d made detective and worked homicide for the next decade. He’d retired at the age of 56 and had been out of his mind with boredom within a few months. So he’d hired himself on as her assistant, which worked out great because by that time Lucianna had more work than she could handle.

  He claimed that working with her gave him purpose. She suspected it also provided him with the opportunity to keep tabs on her. To make sure she was safe. That was okay, too.

  Frustrated with the interruption, Lucianna frowned at Vinnie. “Is it important? I’m on my way to a meeting.”

  “Important? No, most likely you will find it is not important.” Vinnie gave a little shrug, that ‘what can you do’ look in his eyes. “However, this particular caller has been determined to reach you. This is the fourth call in the past hour.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Patrick.”

  Lucianna groaned. Vinnie looked amused. He said, “I thought that the two of you had broken up.”

  “We did. Nearly a month ago.”

  “Is he aware of that?”

  “Of course.”

  “I see.”

  “Don’t get any ideas,” Lucianna said.

  Vinnie wore his mask of innocence. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “I mean no threats.”

  Vinnie’s eyebrows arched. “I do not make threats.”

  “Okay. Then do not intimidate him. Whatever you want to call it.”

  “Fine.”

  “I can handle him.”

  “Yes. You are doing a wonderful job.”

  Lucianna nudged Vinnie out of her office. “Go away. I’ll take the call.”

  “I’m available should you find that you need me.”

  “I know.” Lucianna smiled and her voice softened. “And I do appreciate that.”

  Vinnie gave her a mock salute, then turned and closed the door behind him. Lucianna went to her desk, sighed deeply, and picked up the phone. “Hello Patrick.”

  For the next few minutes she listened to Patrick’s chatter. He kept reminding her how good they had been together. She wondered what drugs he had taken that had so effectively altered his perception.

  Patrick had been her attempt to rebel from the bad-boy type she’d been ridiculously drawn to. The type that had been great to hang out with, even better to have sex with, but not much good in the respect and trust department.

  So she’d turned to Patrick, a corporate executive, handsome in that snobbish kind of way. He showed her respect and she could trust him, sort of like a well-behaved dog. He wanted two children, a boy and a girl, as if it was possible to place an order for preferred gender. The house would be white with a white picket fence and a Mercedes in the driveway. Maybe a Lexus. And his wife would quit her job to stay home and raise their children.

  His fantasy. Certainly not hers.

  “Patrick,” Lucianna said. “I’ve told you as plainly as possible. There is no hope for us as a couple.”

  He made a few pleas. She cut him short. He tried the “let’s be friends” line. She told him that was not a good idea. When the pleading started once again, she clicked the phone off. Hard to believe they had dated less than three months. He acted as if they’d been lifelong lovers.

  Lucianna glanced at her watch. She had just enough time to get to her meeting. As she passed Vinnie’s desk, she said, “I’ll be out the rest of the day. You can reach me on my cell phone if you need me.”

  “How did it go with Patrick?” Vinnie asked.

  “He has a hard time with rejection.”

  “You want me to handle it?”

  “No, I do not.”

  Vinnie shrugged. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  Lucianna shook her head. But she smiled, then leaned across the desk and kissed Vinnie’s cheek. “Thank you.”

  ***

  He pulled the car up in front of the house, shifted into park, left the engine running. The truck was long gone. The house stood quiet against the woodsy backdrop. His eyes roamed about the neighborhood. No activity. At this hour, everyone had gone off to work. Or they were otherwise occupied, safely caged in their homes, ignoring the rest of the world. Not much to do on this damp dreary early afternoon. That worked well for him.

  His gaze
moved back to the house. Did she already know he was out here? Would she let him in? Would she slam the door in his face? Recognize him? Scream? Run?

  He shouldn’t be out here stalling. He needed to get in and out as quickly as possible. Not be noticed. But his stomach churned with a fluid guilt. Because, all else aside, he liked her.

  Before his mind could torture him any further, he switched off the engine and pushed open his door. The air had that heavy damp chill. Fit his mood perfectly.

  He opened the screen door, stood poised to ring the bell. With some luck she wouldn’t look first. Just open the door. He could slip right in before she had time to think. As if that would make a difference in her state of mind.

  The television was on. Sounded like one of those old sitcoms. He drew in a long breath, punched the doorbell with his knuckle. Wished he could put some force behind it and punch something that mattered.

  The sound from the television stopped abruptly. No sound at all now. No movement. No footsteps. He waited. Counted to 20. Then pressed the bell again, three times consecutively. Inside the house the buzzing echoed against the silent walls. Still no other sound.

  He peered around the side of the doorstep. Lacey pale yellow curtains covered the front window. He could make out shadows of furniture. Nothing else. No one looking back out at him.

  He sighed, cursed, tried the doorknob. Of course it was locked. Probably had a heavy-duty deadbolt and state-of-the-art alarm system by now.

  The neighborhood remained quiet. He considered his options. Try going around back, getting in through the sliders? And then what? Breaking in sure as hell wouldn’t put her in a trusting mood. Wouldn’t get her to open up, tell him what she knew. If, in fact, she knew anything. If she remembered.

  He laid his palm on the doorbell, counted to 10, then backward to zero. The buzzing inside made his head throb. He removed his hand, waited, listened. Still nothing.