Maggie Lee (Book 19): The Hitwoman and the Gold Digger

by Lynn, JB

  He ducked under the piece of driftwood and fell silent.

  Mike tilted his head to the side and stared at me with one glassy eye. “I have faith in you.”

  “I don’t have faith in me,” I confessed.

  “That’s one of your biggest problems,” God opined.

  “Really not helping,” Piss warned.

  I bit my lower lip. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  We all just sort of looked at each other helplessly, not sure how to proceed.

  Finally, Piss looked at the lizard. “What? No suggestions, Mr. Know It All?”

  Climbing back on top of the driftwood, he said in his most superior tone, “I thought you were encouraging my silence.”

  “Death of matter life and,” DeeDee reminded them hotly.

  “It’s a matter of life OR death, you grammatically deficient dog,” God raged.

  “But she’s right, a life does hang in the balance,” Piss hissed.

  “Help him! Help him! Help him!” the mouse urged from his box.

  The lizard sighed. “I imagine that you’ll need a first aid kit since that would be the logical place to find medical supplies. And you’ll need a bright light so that you can see what you’re doing.”

  I nodded. “Excellent suggestion.”

  “Logical,” he countered.

  “I’ll be back.” I ran upstairs, knowing that Aunt Susan had a completely stocked first aid kit in the shared bathroom on the second floor of the B&B.

  I cut through the kitchen, dashed through the dining room where Templeton sat at an easel painting a gristmill, and ran upstairs, almost plowing down Marlene when I reached the top.

  Her arms were full of scraps of fabric.

  “Armani and I are going to design stripper costumes,” she said excitedly. “Isn’t that great?”

  “Awesome!” And it was, because it meant I wouldn’t get roped into doing it with Marlene any time in the near future.

  Marlene lowered her voice to a whisper. “She seems really shaken up.”

  “She is.”

  “And what was that about you taking on some bad guy?” Marlene frowned at me disapprovingly.

  “It was nothing.” I waved her off, but Marlene didn’t move out of my path.

  She scowled at me, her expression eerily reminiscent of Aunt Susan’s disapproval. “That’s not what Armani said.”

  I shrugged helplessly. “She’s prone to exaggeration.”

  Marlene nodded. “But be careful, Maggie.”

  “I will. Does Susan still keep the first aid kit up here?”

  “Yeah. Doc just restocked it last week.”

  “Awesome.” Not for the first time, I was grateful for Marlene dating a paramedic.

  Marlene gave me the once over. “Are you hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Then why do you need the first aid kit?”

  It wasn’t like I could tell her that I was going to try to remove a bullet from a bird. “I need an alcohol wipe.”

  She nodded, which I took to mean my lie was accepted.

  We went our separate ways, her to design skivvies with Armani and me to retrieve the kit.

  But first I climbed into the attic. A little shiver ran down my spine as I did, since I hadn’t been there since the day Paul Kowalski had tried to kill me and had almost killed DeeDee.

  Pushing past my fear, I plucked the hanging light from its hook just inside the attic, yanked the plug out of the wall, and coiled the cord around my arm.

  I returned to the basement with the light and kit.

  “Hurry,” Piss urged as I descended. “He’s getting weaker.”

  “I should supervise,” God suggested.

  I quickly lifted the lizard out of his enclosure. For once, I welcomed his need to always be a part of everything.

  “Move the table lamp over to the coffee table,” he ordered.

  I did.

  “Remove the shade,” he instructed.

  I did as I was told. Then I wiped down the table with some of the alcohol wipes…something I’m sure Aunt Susan wouldn’t approve of being used on furniture, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

  I laid out the kit on the couch. Hung the hanging lamp from the floor lamp and went to wash my hands.

  “Still with us, Mike?” I asked, doing my best impression of what I’ve seen actors do on TV when they’re scrubbing in for a surgery, taking care to wash up to my elbows.

  “I’m a tough old bird,” Mike croaked weakly.

  “Tough. Tough. Tough,” Benny cheered.

  Carefully, I carried the crow over to the coffee table and gently laid him down on his back. I turned on the floor and hanging lamps.

  “My eyes! You’ve fried my corneas!” God gasped, curling into a ball.

  “Shut up,” Piss warned. “She has more to worry about than your sensitivities.”

  “Fight no,” DeeDee growled.

  “She’s right,” I said. “Stop bickering. I need to focus.”

  I gently moved Mike’s wing back so that I could see the injury.

  He groaned.

  “Maybe I should give you something to bite down on,” I murmured.

  “Give him a bullet,” God urged.

  I stared at him. “What?”

  “Give him a bullet or some whiskey,” the lizard said emphatically.

  “I don’t have any bullets.” I made a mental note to ask Patrick Mulligan for another weapon. If someone was after Armani, I should be armed.

  “He’s lost that reptilian brain of his,” Piss hissed.

  “That’s what they do in the movies,” God explained. “Bullets or whiskey.”

  “I could use a shot of whiskey,” I muttered.

  “I can tough it out, doll,” Mike said through his gritted beak.

  I wiped down the area with another alcohol wipe, hoping it wasn’t harmful to birds.

  He inhaled sharply.

  “It stings?” I asked sympathetically.

  He nodded his head tightly.

  “It’s only going to get worse,” God warned.

  I shot him a dirty look, letting him know that his commentary wasn’t helping.

  Crouched down over the coffee table, I peered closely at the wound, trying to ignore the way the blood and flesh was making me a little queasy.

  I figured that I’d never live it down if the lizard found out that the hitwoman doesn’t do well with the sight of blood and guts.

  The light glinted off metal.

  “I see it!” I cried excitedly as Piss paced back and forth nervously.

  Grabbing the pair of tweezers, I reached for the bit of metal.

  “Steady hands,” God urged. “You don’t want to do more harm than good.”

  “Thanks for the vote of support,” I muttered, changing my grip on the tweezers.

  “You can do it! You can do it! You can do it!” Benny cheered from his box.

  “Thanks, Benny.”

  “Just do it,” Mike groaned.

  So I did. I grabbed the metal and pulled. Miraculously, it popped right out.

  I held up the BB for all to behold. “I got it!”

  “I knew you could do it,” God opined.

  Piss hissed but didn’t say anything.

  “Well all is,” DeeDee sighed contentedly.

  I wasn’t sure that all was well, but the current crisis had been averted.

  Chapter Six

  “I need my tiles.” Armani frowned at me over the piece of toast topped with chicken salad and sardines. “You’ve got to go get them for me.”

  Before I could answer, Aunt Loretta click-clacked into the kitchen on her stilettos. I almost choked on the overwhelming scent of her perfume, which permeated every oxygen molecule in the room.

  “New perfume?” I gasped.

  “Sexy Goddess. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “It’s something else, that’s for sure.” I blinked away the tears caused by the noxious fumes.

  She peere
d at Armani’s food combination. “What is that?”

  “Haven’t you ever heard of chicken and the sea?”

  Loretta shook her head in disgust and then turned to me. “Have you heard from Susan?”

  I shook my head.

  Loretta pursed her lips. “You don’t find that strange?”

  I shrugged. “You’re not known for checking in while you’re off on your romantic rendezvous.”

  “That’s different. I’m busy making mad, passionate love. Knowing Susan and Lawrence, they’re busy polishing silverware.”

  Armani chortled, and I had to swallow a smile. The couple did seem to have a bit of a tarnish battling fetish.

  “Armani’s going to come to the shop with me once she finishes eating her chicken and the sea,” Loretta announced.

  “Great.” I was relieved I wouldn’t be responsible for entertaining her for a while. I could only imagine what assignments she would task me with if I was at her beck and call.

  “And Maggie is going to my place to pick something up for me,” she said, confirming my concern.

  “I---” I began.

  Armani arched an eyebrow, daring me to argue with her.

  “Yes, I am,” I conceded. Sometimes, it’s just easier to give in than argue. Besides, it kept me from having to accompany them to The Corset, Aunt Loretta’s lingerie shop.

  “And call your aunt,” Loretta urged.

  “I’ll try.”

  She sauntered out. “Chop, chop, Armani.”

  “Chop, chop?” Armani muttered, taking a big bite of fowl and fish.

  “She doesn’t mean anything about it. I think she’s really worried about Susan.”

  Armani paused mid-bite. “Are you?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t before, but it is out of character for her to not be checking in every five minutes. But you haven’t had a feeling or anything about her, right?”

  “No. But I’ve been distracted. It might be helpful to pull some tiles and see what they have to say.”

  I nodded. “Okay. Okay. I’ll go get the tiles.”

  “And you’ll bring them to The Corset?”

  I sighed, my plan to avoid the land of leather and lace thwarted. “Yes. I’ll bring them.”

  Armani beamed, tossed the remains of her meal in the trash, and limped out, calling over her shoulder, “Later, gator.”

  I sat alone in the kitchen for a long moment, trying to decide which of my animals to bring to Armani’s place. When I returned to the basement, I found DeeDee and Piss watching over a sleeping Mike. God, too, was focused on his avian friend from atop his perch. The bird’s beak was open and his breathing seemed labored, but then again, I know nothing about how birds sleep. Maybe he just needed a c-pap machine.

  “I’ve got to go get something for Armani,” I announced on a whisper so as not to disturb Mike.

  Nobody reacted.

  “Anybody want to come along?”

  Again, nothing.

  “Nobody?” I asked in amazement. Usually, at least the lizard and dog clamored to go.

  “Mike protecting am I,” DeeDee proclaimed.

  “A little late for that,” God muttered.

  The cat turned her one good eye on the lizard, who raised his front feet in surrender and promptly tumbled off his piece of driftwood.

  I’d swear I heard a smug smirk in the cat’s tone when she purred, “I’d rather stay here, sugar.”

  Shrugging, I picked up my keys and headed for the stairs.

  “Take me! Take me! Take me!” a little voice squeaked.

  Walking over to Benny’s box, I peered down at the little white mouse. “You want to go?”

  He wiggled his whiskers at me, which I took to be an affirmative response.

  Scooping him up, I looked at my outfit, realizing I had no pockets to carry him in. “Gotta figure out a way to carry you, buddy.”

  “Carry your him mouth in,” DeeDee panted.

  I stared at her. “What?”

  “Humans use their hands to carry things, not their mouths,” Piss explained patiently to the Doberman.

  “That’s because they like to show off their opposable thumbs,” God groused. “They think it makes them the superior species. Imbeciles.”

  “No other mammal has ever done so much to destroy the planet,” Piss added.

  “Or reptile!” the lizard felt compelled to add.

  Not wanting to be left out, DeeDee yipped, “Dog or!”

  Mike stirred at the noise, but his eyes didn’t open.

  “A dog IS a mammal,” the lizard whisper-yelled. “The most uneducated mammal in all the land!”

  DeeDee whined and covered her eyes with her paw.

  “Hey,” I said sharply. “You hurt her feelings.”

  The dog loped over to me so that I could pet her and make her feel better.

  “She’ll sur—” God began.

  “And you called me an imbecile,” I interrupted sharply.

  The lizard opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it when he couldn’t come up with an appropriate retort. He resorted to sticking his tongue out at me.

  “Real mature,” I mocked, continuing to stroke the dog’s head. “Can I leave you all alone, or will World War Three have broken out before I get back?”

  “Go, sugar,” Piss urged.

  “Use a tissue box,” God suggested.

  “Huh?” I responded eloquently.

  “For the mouse,” he explained.

  He may be a pompous ass, but he comes up with some decent ideas. I put Benny in a tissue box, tossed DeeDee a treat, and headed to Armani’s place.

  Twenty minutes later I drove past Armani’s place three times before I parked. The first time I scanned for cops. The second time I looked for suspicious characters. (Except for a guy who was using a leaf blower to clean off his roof, I didn’t see anyone who looked out of place.) The third time I looked for nosy neighbors, peering out from behind their curtains.

  Finally, I parked, scooped Benny out of his travel box, and strode toward Armani’s front door purposefully. Ignoring the fact that the entry was draped with POLICE LINE — DO NOT CROSS, I ducked under the yellow strips and carefully moved the door with the broken hinges open just enough so that I could squeeze through.

  As soon as I entered the foyer, I bent to pick up a throw pillow that had ended up beneath the coat rack. The print featured a chicken with a fish head.

  “Chicken of the sea,” I muttered.

  “Smelly, smelly, smelly,” Benny complained from his perch on my shoulder.

  The place reeked of a particularly noxious combination of incense and bleach. I wondered if Armani had been cleaning or performing some kind of weird ritual. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.

  Both the question and the odor were already giving me a headache.

  “I just have to find her bag of Scrabble tiles and then—”

  “They’re on top of the toilet,” a deep, gravelly voice said from behind me.

  Without even thinking about it, since I’m the queen of badass takedowns, I whirled and walloped the man behind me in the chest with the throw pillow.

  It bounced off his black leather jacket ineffectively.

  The tall man with dark hair and eyes looked amused. “Pillow fight, Maggie?”

  I glared at Jack Stern. “You scared the hell out of me.”

  “Sorry?” The reporter’s response sounded a lot more like a question than an apology.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, clutching the pillow to my chest.

  Jack squinted at me. “Is that a mouse?”

  “It’s not any mouse,” I said, like it was perfectly normal to walk around with a mouse on one’s shoulder as the newest fashion accessory. “This is Benny.”

  “Hi, Benny,” Jack said sarcastically.

  “Hello. Hello. Hello,” Benny replied.

  Jack’s eyes widened at the squeaking.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked again. “This is
a crime scene, you know.”

  “And yet, you’re here,” he replied drily.

  “The owner of the property asked me to retrieve some of her belongings,” I told him in my best haughty tone.

  “I’m sure the cops will take that into account when they catch you here.”

  “Actually, we won’t,” another male voice chimed in.

  I whirled around to find the source of the voice.

  “Patrick, my man!” Jack embraced the redhead in a bro-hug. “You’re looking good. I guess what they say is true.”

  “And what’s that?” Patrick asked.

  “What doesn’t kill you makes you more handsome.”

  Patrick chuckled. I didn’t, since I hadn’t found anything humorous when Patrick had ended up hospitalized when he’d been poisoned awhile back. Thankfully, thanks to God’s undercover work, we’d figured out who had been trying to kill my murder mentor, but it had been a scary situation. I guess with Jack being a crime reporter and all, he was accustomed to gallows humor, but it made me uncomfortable.

  “Jokes won’t get you out of breaking and entering charges,” Patrick admonished.

  “The door was already broken,” Jack said.

  “And you didn’t notice the police tape?” Patrick mocked. He squinted at the mouse on my shoulder, shook his head, but didn’t comment on it. “And what’s your story?”

  “Armani forgot something and asked me to pick it up for her.” I jutted out my chin defensively.

  “What?”

  “Her bag of Scrabble tiles.”

  Patrick shook his head. “Why did I even ask?”

  I shrugged at him. “You know how she is.”

  “Fine. You’re off the hook, but you, my friend…” He looked at Jack.

  “Come on, man. Give me a break,” the reporter protested.

  “I didn’t just happen to show up. One of the neighbors reported suspicious activity. You’re lucky a fresh-out-of-the-academy patrolman didn’t burst in with his gun drawn.”

  “Yeah,” Jack drawled. “Maggie would have hit him with her pillow.”

  I chucked said pillow at his head. He caught it easily.

  “If it was up to me, I’d let you go with just a verbal warning, but I’ve got to appease the neighbor,” Patrick said.

  “So, write her up,” Jack pleaded, pointing to me.

  “Her friend sent her,” Patrick reminded him.