Maggie Lee (Book 7): The Hitwoman and the 7 Cops

by JB Lynn

  “Do you want an ambulance?” Griswald asked.

  Zeke shook his head. “Nothing an ice pack and a decent meal wouldn’t fix.”

  “Gonnakillyou,” Wally slurred, having regained consciousness.

  “Put him in your car,” Griswald ordered the uniformed cop.

  Hauling the swearing and stumbling pimp to his feet, the officer led Wally away.

  “You four…” Griswald pointed to Marlene, Zeke, Susan and Leslie. “Go inside and wait for me.”

  “You,” he said as I moved toward the house, “need to stay here.”

  I nodded, swallowing the lump of nervousness that rose in my throat. While I was grateful for him taking charge, I wouldn’t have minded a return of the mild-mannered, shy man I’d met earlier.

  “Hungry,” DeeDee whined.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Brian asked.

  “She’s hungry.”

  His cell phone buzzed. He glanced at it and then offered me a temporary reprieve. “You can go inside and feed her, but then come back out.”

  “Thanks,” I murmured, hurrying toward the B&B’s entrance.

  “Thanks,” DeeDee panted gratefully, bounding inside ahead of me.

  “I know it’s important, but I haven’t had a chance to ask her yet,” Griswald said as I stepped through the doorway and out of earshot.

  I had the distinct impression I didn’t want to know what he was going to ask.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Let me out! Let me out!”

  I winced as I heard God shouting at the top of his tiny, reptilian lungs.

  Opening the door to the basement, I almost stepped on him as he scurried out.

  Bending down, I offered him my palm to climb onto. “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong? What’s wrong? You’re asking me what’s wrong?”

  “You’re starting to sound like Aunt Susan,” I warned as I stood and held him at eye level. “Is something wrong with Piss?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with the feline. She’s in a drugged-out stupor. No doubt dreaming of hunting poor, defenseless prey.”

  “You don’t mind when she catches crickets for you.” I reminded him. “Now tell me what’s got you so bothered that you were trying to pull off The Great Escape.”

  “There’s yelling and screaming and crying and sirens and I don’t know what’s going on.” He flicked his tail as he made each point.

  “Everything’s okay,” I assured him.

  “Hungry but DeeDee,” the dog complained.

  “Don’t let the beast eat me!” The lizard scampered up my arm to hide on my shoulder.

  “Drop the drama queen act.” I frowned at the entryway of the kitchen. It was blocked off with yellow crime scene tape.

  “How am I supposed to feed you if I can’t get in there?”

  “Hamburger? Ice cream?” DeeDee suggested cheerily.

  It was Patrick’s fault that the mutt thought take-out was designed just for her. My murder mentor had the annoying habit of spoiling the dog. Of course the ice cream thing was my fault, so I couldn’t lay all the guilt on the red head’s feet.

  “How can you eat at time like this, you callous cretin?” God raged.

  DeeDee hung her head. “Hungry.”

  “I know you’re hungry, sweetheart. I’ll find something for you,” I soothed. “As for you…” I tried to glare at the lizard perched on my shoulder, but he was too close to my face, so all I ended up doing was inadvertently crossing my eyes. “You, shut up.”

  “But I haven’t even said anything,” Leslie murmured.

  I whirled around to find her standing beside me, a pen in one hand, a pad in the other.

  “Not you. I was talking to the lizard.”

  She nodded as though that was a completely reasonable response. “Susan’s ordering take-out. Chinese. What would you like?”

  “DeeDee feed?” the dog whined.

  I patted her head. “Can you get an order of steamed chicken and broccoli for DeeDee?”

  The mutt flashed her wolfish grin, pleased with my choice.

  “And I’ll have some everything lo mein and an egg roll.”

  “How can you eat at a time like this?” God whispered in my ear.

  I was sorely tempted to swat him away like a buzzing mosquito.

  “What do you think the detective would like?” Leslie whispered, peering over her shoulder.

  “How should I know? Ask him.”

  “Could you ask him?” my aunt whispered.

  “Why are we whispering?” I whispered back.

  “Susan wants me to ask him, but he seemed very angry.” Leslie cocked her head to the side and blinked rapidly as though an idea was just occurring to her. “You could ask him.”

  “It’ll cost you your fortune cookie,” I warned.

  She nodded, amenable to the deal.

  Shrugging and almost dislodging the squealing lizard, I turned to go back outside.

  “Thank you, Maggie.”

  I flashed a grin that I hoped looked more confident than I was feeling. “No problem.”

  I marched back out to the yard. The detective and uniformed officer were deep in conversation, so I didn’t interrupt them. I just waited.

  God surveyed the flowerpot carnage from his vantage point on my shoulder. “None of this would have happened if you hadn’t left me behind.”

  Finishing his conversation with the other cop, Brian Griswald headed toward me. “I just have a couple of questions.”

  I held up a finger, signaling I needed him to wait a minute. “I have my own questions.”

  Something that looked like amusement mixed with annoyance flashed across his face.

  “One. Since we can’t use the kitchen we’re ordering Chinese. Would you like some?”

  The question caught him off-guard and he seemed suddenly shy as he answered, “Steamed vegetables with brown rice.”

  “Steamed vegetables with brown rice,” I shouted to Aunt Leslie, who was hovering in the doorway, pen and pad at the ready.

  “Thanks.” Griswald eyed the lizard on my shoulder. “I take it that’s Godzilla?”

  “The one and only.” I watched as the cop car drove away with Wally glaring murderously at me through the rear window. “What’s going to happen to him?”

  “We’ll book him on some outstanding warrants while we get some things settled here.” Griswald watched me carefully. “Would you like to go sit down inside?”

  “Not particularly.”

  He chuckled, but didn’t seem surprised by my answer. “Can’t say I blame you. What do you say we pull up a porch step?”

  He sat down and patted the board beside him as an invitation.

  “Who is this guy?” God asked, as I lowered myself onto the stair.

  Brian raised his eyebrows at the squeaking lizard, but thankfully didn’t comment on the noise he was making.

  “I take it this isn’t a social call, detective,” I said quickly, hoping to keep God quiet.

  “We didn’t finish our conversation earlier.”

  “We didn’t?” I tried to remember what he was referring to, but drew a big, fat zero. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be difficult. I just have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “I forgot about it too in all the excitement. You were going to tell me about Jeffrey Hendricks.”

  An involuntary shiver snaked down my spine.

  Brian Griswald’s eyes narrowed as he watched my reaction.

  I cleared my throat nervously. “I’d rather not.”

  His left eyebrow twitched. “Excuse me?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it.” I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to chase away the icy chill that had settled there.

  “It?”

  “Him. It. It was a long time ago.”

  Instead of strong-arming me like I expected, he sat back, crossed his arms over his chest, and regarded me steadily.

  I wondered if it was some so
rt of advanced interrogation technique, but I didn’t ask.

  “You should tell him,” God opined from my shoulder.

  “Shhh.”

  “He’s a talkative little guy.” Brian stretched his legs out in front of him. “Believe it or not, Miss Lee, I’m—”

  “Maggie,” I interrupted, automatically correcting him.

  “Believe it or not, Maggie, I’m trying to help.”

  I nodded. I did believe him. I just didn’t believe that drudging up ancient history was going to be of any help to anyone.

  “You seem to be the sanest of the bunch, which is why I’m asking you.”

  I chuckled. “You do know that’s not saying much.”

  “My uncles seem to think that even though you’re a little out there, you’ve got your act together.”

  “Do they?” I’d always liked the older Griswalds.

  “Your dad’s in trouble,” Brian said quietly.

  “My father is always in trouble.”

  “So tell me about Hendricks.”

  I clamped my jaw shut.

  Frowning, Detective Brian Griswald rubbed his chin. “How about we start with what we already know?”

  Holding my breath, I gave a quick nod.

  “A number of years ago Jeff Hendricks had his wife, Mitzi, committed to the same mental institution your mother resided in.”

  I nodded.

  “Your mother and Mitzi became friendly?”

  Every muscle in body tensed. “So I’ve been told.”

  “You don’t know?”

  I shrugged. “You should ask one of the others about that. The witches all visited her.”

  “Witches?”

  “My aunts.”

  Brian nodded like he understood. “You didn’t visit your mother?”

  I shook my head.

  “Breathe,” God ordered.

  “Can I ask why not?” Brian asked.

  Absentmindedly, I circled the diameter of a knot in the wood step with my finger.

  “Miss Lee? Why didn’t you visit her?”

  Tapping the bull’s-eye of the pattern, I tried to quell the wave of anger building inside me.

  “Breathe, Maggie,” God urged.

  I took a shallow breath. “I hated her.”

  “Your mother?”

  I nodded.

  “Why?”

  I’d blamed my mother for my sister Darlene’s disappearance and death. If she hadn’t been such a distraction at the time Darlene was taken…

  I shook my head, unwilling to voice my grievances. “That was a long time ago. It has nothing to do with…”

  Brian uncrossed his arms and rested his hands on his knees. “Your father broke them both out of the hospital.”

  “Liberated.” It was the word my father had used to describe their adventure.

  “Why?”

  I shook my head. “My dad is a lot of things: a liar, a thief, a hustler, a con, but he’s also a man who loves his wife. Sometimes I think he’s crazier than she is.”

  “So he had some notion about whisking her off to a romantic interlude?”

  “Probably.”

  “So why take the Hendricks woman?”

  “That,” I murmured, “depends on who you ask.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “If you ask Jeff Hendricks, he’ll tell you that Archie Lee was looking to use his wife for a big score.”

  “By your own admission, that would fit your father’s profile.”

  “Sure, hit up the crazy socialite for a chunk of her inheritance.” Realizing how bitter my tone sounded, I stopped talking.

  “I’m not asking Jeff Hendricks. I’m asking you.”

  I shrugged. “I wasn’t there.”

  “In the name of all that I hold dear, just tell the man what he wants to know,” God groused.

  Considering that all he seemed to value was Wheel of Fortune, tacky reality TV shows, and live crickets, I wasn’t moved by his plea.

  “You know something,” Brian prodded.

  I looked over at the man who was regarding me with steady interest. “I don’t.”

  “That’s it,” God announced, skittering down my arm and jumping off my hand onto the step. “I’m going back inside. I’d rather listen to drugged-out hunter and the grammatically-challenged beast than hear you beat around the bush like this.” He chased his tail like a dog does, just to illustrate how stupid he thought I was being.

  “You think you know something,” Brian prodded, watching the squeaking lizard’s little tantrum with undisguised fascination.

  I sighed heavily, trying to dislodge the invisible weight pressing on my chest. “I know what they say.”

  “They?” the detective and the lizard asked in unison.

  I rolled my eyes at how absurd my life had become. “My parents. I know what they say.”

  Brian looked at me expectantly.

  “It’s hard to believe.”

  “Try me,” he invited.

  “They claim”—I started slowly, wanting to make sure that it was clear I wasn’t sure I believed them—“that Mitzi needed to go back to that house to get proof that she wasn’t nuts.”

  “What house?” God asked.

  I glanced down. I raised my eyebrows, silently asking why he hadn’t returned to the hunter and the beast.

  “What house?” he asked again.

  “The Hendricks house?” Brian asked.

  I nodded.

  “The place where Mitzi Hendricks took a swan dive out a third-story window?”

  I frowned. “If you already know so much, why are you asking me these questions?’

  “Tell me why you think Jeffrey Hendricks wants to kill your father.”

  “Because Dad doesn’t believe Mitzi committed suicide. He thinks someone killed her. He told the cops that at the time.”

  “But they didn’t believe him.”

  I shook my head. “Who’s going to believe a career criminal and his wife who just escaped from the loony bin?”

  The detective didn’t answer.

  I stole at a look at him. He stared off into space, deep in thought.

  “Do you believe him?” God asked.

  Glancing down I saw he’d curled into a ball and was watching me almost as raptly as he did Vanna White.

  I shrugged.

  “Your aunt doesn’t like your father,” Brian said slowly.

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “So why did she freak out when the Hendricks name was mentioned?”

  I felt his gaze on me and lifted my eyes to meet his. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “That whole bumbling, bashful thing you did earlier, is that some sort of Columbo act or something?”

  He chuckled. “I got nervous.”

  “Again, an understatement.”

  “This case means a lot to my family. I’ve never worked with Mike before. Professionally, I mean. Family dynamics change when we each put on our respective badges.”

  I nodded. “Gotchya.”

  “I don’t want to be the one who gets discussed at Thanksgiving dinner as the one who screwed up the case.”

  “I understand. Managing family expectations during the best of times is a challenge.” I should know.

  “Why is Susan afraid of Hendricks?”

  “Because he threatened her.”

  “Threatened?”

  “He’s this millionaire big shot. He threatened to bring a civil case against my mother, blaming her for his wife’s death. The stress of that would have pushed her over the edge.”

  Brian shifted uncomfortably.

  I knew what he was thinking. “She comes back.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My mother comes back. She has lucid moments. Times when she seems”—I made quote marks in the air with my hands—“normal. Susan thought that the suit would push her to a place she couldn’t ever come back from.”

  “Oh.”

  “That�
��s why Susan freaked out at the mention of Hendricks. I don’t see how any of this is going to help you find my father though.”

  “There are bigger fish than your father,” Griswald said mysteriously.

  “Hey, Chiquita!” Armani interrupted, limping up the driveway.

  “Speaking of crazy,” Brian muttered.

  I chuckled. “She’s not that bad.”

  “No offense, but having met your family, I’m not sure that you set the bar all that highly.”

  “The man has a point,” God said.

  “Oh,” Armani said, arriving slightly breathlessly at the bottom of the stairs. “I didn’t know he was here. The skeptic. The non-believer.”

  “Armani Vasquez, this is Detective Brian Griswald. Detective, this is Armani.”

  “The world-renowned psychic.” The detective stood and offered his hand.

  Armani eyed it distrustfully before sliding her good hand into his. “Are you hassling her?”

  “No, ma’am.” Notes of annoyance floated through his tone.

  “You’d better not.”

  “He’s here to help.” I stood so I could throw myself between the two of them if they decided to come to blows. “Why are you back?”

  “I have a message for you.”

  “From the dead?” Brian mocked.

  Drawing herself up to her full height, Armani shook her head haughtily. “I’m not that kind of psychic.”

  “From mysterious powers?” Brian scoffed.

  “You,” Armani said, poking at his chest with her finger, “have a seriously screwed up aura.”

  He glared at her and you could practically see sparks flying between them.

  Thinking that he could probably hold her for assault or battery or something for striking him, I slapped her hand away from him. “Where’s the message from?”

  Without breaking eye contact with the detective, Armani said, “It’s from your father.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Delivery! Delivery!” another voice chimed in.

  We all turned to see a pregnant Chinese woman balancing two huge, grease-stained, paper bags toddling toward us.

  I charged the woman, eager to relieve her of the bags before she took a header and exponentially increased the drama of the day. Brian was only a step behind me.

  We each took a bag.

  “Okay. Thank you.” Grinning, the woman turned to leave.

  “Wait. You haven’t been paid,” I reminded her.