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

by Lynn, JB

  Jack shot me a desperate look.

  “I asked him to meet me here,” I blurted out.

  Both Jack and Patrick raised their eyebrows at the lie.

  Instead of backing down, I expanded the falsehood. “After I was assaulted the last time I was here, I thought it best I not come alone.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Patrick tilted his head to the side. “Assault? I thought you initiated a badass takedown.”

  “Armani said that, not me,” I responded quickly.

  “You need to be careful. The—” He paused and looked at Jack. “This is off the record?”

  The reporter nodded, curiosity sparkling in his dark eyes.

  “The Licks are a dangerous gang. They don’t play around. You could have gotten yourself killed.”

  I nodded my understanding.

  “I guess you could do worse than Jack as your bodyguard,” Patrick continued.

  “I abhor violence,” Jack replied.

  “Me, too. Me, too. Me, too,” Benny squeaked.

  Patrick rubbed his eyes as though the soft squeaking had caused him a headache. “Fine. You both walk. This time.”

  “Thanks, man.” Jack shook his hand. “I owe you.”

  “You owe her,” Patrick said pointedly. “Now, get what you came for and get out of here before I change my mind.”

  Jack and I nearly collided as we both turned in the direction of the bathroom.

  “I’ll get it,” Jack offered, hurrying off.

  Left alone with Patrick for a moment, I glanced at him nervously.

  “Seriously, Mags,” he whispered. “The Licks make the Delveccios look like kindly grandfathers.”

  “He is a kindly grandfather,” I whispered back, feeling the need to defend the mob boss, my occasional employer.

  We didn’t get any further because Jack returned, wooden tiles jangling in a purple cloth bag.

  Patrick frowned. “I hope that was worth risking your life for.”

  I didn’t tell him that the tiles had saved my life more than once.

  Chapter Seven

  “We need to talk,” Jack said as we walked away from Armani’s place.

  I nodded. I didn’t particularly want to, but I knew from experience that it wouldn’t do any good to avoid the reporter. He had a way of showing up at the most inopportune times.

  He walked me to my car and then frowned down at me. “Patrick’s right. You need to be careful. The Licks are trouble.”

  “Why were you at Armani’s place?” I asked.

  “I was looking into the Soliloquy robbery, and she was a witness.”

  “I know that. It still doesn’t explain why you broke into her place.”

  “I did ring the bell first.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Curiosity got the better of me,” he admitted. “Why did you cover for me?”

  I shrugged.

  “How’s your other friend doing?”

  I answered carefully, knowing that he was referring to my half-brother, Ian, who’d given Jack the scoop on another dangerous story. “He’s fine.”

  Jack smirked. “No one would ever label you the most loquacious woman in the world.”

  “People have said worse about me,” I countered.

  “Think I could interview Armani?”

  “Not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “I’d protect her identity,” Jack pledged.

  “Considering the bad guys already know where she lives, that seems pretty pointless.” I frowned. It wasn’t my place to censor who Armani talked to. “Let me ask her, and I’ll let you know.”

  “Can you call her now?”

  “No.”

  Jack blinked at my abrupt answer.

  “Her phone was stolen,” I explained. “She hasn’t gotten a new one yet. Because her credit cards were stolen, too.”

  “In the robbery?”

  I nodded.

  His forehead crinkled as he thought that over. “Do you think the robbery and break-in at her place are connected?”

  I shrugged. I’m not someone who believes in coincidence. “You tell me.”

  “The Licks usually go after bigger targets. I mean, they got their name because they’re known for doling out blows or licks as their initiation into the gang. They’re hardcore, not the kind that knocks over a restaurant known for its senior citizen early bird specials or Armani, who, quite frankly, is a nobody.”

  “She did win the lottery a couple of months ago,” I told him.

  “Did she keep her winnings at home?”

  “I have no idea,” I admitted. It wasn’t a possibility I’d put past my quirky friend. “But she said nothing from the house was missing.”

  “You two still here?” Patrick called, walking over to us.

  “We were just leaving.” So saying, Jack turned on his heel and strode away.

  “What about you?” Patrick asked.

  “It wasn’t my dad that robbed the Soliloquy,” I told him in a low voice.

  “Not my case.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think Brian Griswald would believe me if I told him.”

  “And you want me to put in a good word for Archie Lee?” Patrick asked, his tone making it clear he wasn’t inclined to think the best of my father.

  “He doesn’t have his beard anymore.”

  Patrick crossed his arms and said, “And you know this because…?”

  “I ran into him when I went on that road trip with Armani.”

  “And you just happened to run into your father who’s in the Witness Protection Program?”

  I didn’t answer. Considering he knew I’d already fibbed about asking Jack to accompany me to Armani’s place, I didn’t want to have to lie to him again.

  Patrick frowned. “You’re juggling too many balls, Mags. You can’t protect your father, work for Delveccio, and hang out with Jack. You’re going to miss something eventually, and there will be hell to pay.”

  I nodded. He wasn’t saying anything I didn’t already worry about.

  At that moment, my cellphone buzzed. Glancing at the display, I saw it was The Corset calling.

  “Something else for me to juggle,” I apologized, pushing the button to receive the call.

  “Hel—”

  “Come quick, Maggie,” Loretta said breathlessly. “It’s an emergency.”

  “What—” I began.

  She hung up.

  Shaken, I looked to Patrick. “Loretta says there’s an emergency. I have to go.”

  Looking concerned, he asked, “To the B&B?”

  “The Corset.”

  “Follow me there.” With that, he took off running for his car.

  “Trouble. Trouble. Trouble,” Benny predicted as I climbed into mine.

  Patrick used the emergency lights and siren of his unmarked car as we raced across town.

  I stayed on his tail the whole time, white-knuckled as I almost rear-ended him a couple times.

  Benny, riding in the tissue box, kept pleading, “Slow down. Slow down. Slow down.”

  We sped into the parking lot of The Corset and skidded to a shuddering stop.

  Aunt Loretta, in a tight dress and stilettos, stumbled out of the store. I jumped out of my car and rushed toward her. “What’s wrong?”

  Her eyes grew wide when she saw that Detective Patrick Mulligan accompanied me.

  “What’s he doing here?” she whispered, despite the fact he could hear her.

  “He escorted me,” I replied. “What’s wrong?”

  She looked at Patrick nervously. “Detective.” She batted her false eyelashes at him. “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.”

  Patrick’s expression was unreadable. He just waited patiently for her to offer an explanation.

  “I may be a tad dramatic,” she continued.

  “A tad,” he replied drily, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “So sorry our Maggie wasted your time,” Loretta apologized.

  “S
he can be a tad dramatic, too,” Patrick said with an amused smile. He caught my eye, a question in his gaze.

  I nodded slightly, letting him know it was okay for him to leave. He nodded back, letting me know to call him if I needed anything.

  Patrick got back in his car and drove away. As he did, Loretta waved while saying through gritted teeth, “You’ve got to do something.”

  I mirrored her ventriloquist act. “What’s wrong?”

  “They’ve teamed up.”

  “Who?” I asked, a sinking feeling filling my gut.

  “Armani and Archie.”

  Even though I was sure I didn’t want to know the answer, I asked, “What are they doing?”

  “They’re talking about searching for treasure.”

  Chapter Eight

  “In New Jersey?” I asked as we headed into the shop. “Or are they going to some exotic island.” Honestly, the idea of them both leaving for a while held some appeal. Two less problems for me to juggle.

  “They’re out of their minds,” Loretta groused. “And they’re bad for business.”

  “Maggie May,” my father called excitedly, racing across the shop toward me.

  Instinctively, I held out my arms to stop his approach. I mean, what would you do if a man wearing a red vinyl thong and a purple boa, his skin sparkling with glitter, came at you?

  “Do NOT get glitter on me,” I warned.

  “Is that any way to treat your dear old dad?” he pouted, stopping in his tracks.

  I frowned at him but bit my tongue and managed to not tell him that I didn’t consider him to be dear. I also managed to keep my gaze glued to his face, but I’d already been traumatized by his full-body image.

  “Ease up, chica,” Armani suggested, coming around an S&M-outfitted mannequin. She, too, seemed to have rolled around in a vat of glitter, wore a sexy black lace cat mask, but at least she was fully clothed.

  Ignoring her, I focused on my father. “You do know that if the cops see you, they’re going to lock you up, right?”

  He waved off my warning.

  “And don’t you dare go see my mother,” I warned him.

  While I talked, Armani slapped a blonde wig on my head. “Blondes have more fun.”

  Ignoring her, I continued berating my father. “Mom’s pretty stable right now. We don’t need you throwing her off track.”

  “Agreed,” Loretta said firmly.

  “But—” Archie started to protest.

  Armani placed a cowboy hat on top of the wig, tugging the strap beneath my chin.

  Annoyed, I waved her away.

  “See Mary and I’ll call the cops on you myself,” Loretta threatened Archie.

  “So much for true love,” he muttered.

  Loretta, the world’s greatest proponent of romance, remained unswayed, her love for her sister overruling any romantic notions my con man dad might be peddling.

  “You need to get them out of here,” Loretta said, waving at Armani and Archie. “They’re bad for business.”

  “We’re modeling the goods,” Armani countered. To make her point, she thrust a toy gun into my hand.

  I immediately tossed it in a nearby basket of fuzzy handcuffs.

  Loretta shot me a look that clearly illustrated that a pot-bellied old guy and a woman who’d had an unfortunate run-in with a Zamboni were not the kind of models she needed to increase business.

  “What am I supposed to do with them?” I asked. “Her, I can take to the B&B, but what do you expect me to do with him?”

  “Him?” my dad protested.

  “I don’t care where you take him,” Loretta said. “Just get him out of here before I call the cops myself.”

  “Come on.” I led the wayward duo out to my car.

  “Wait!” Loretta called.

  I turned back to face her.

  “You can’t let him go out like that. He’ll attract attention.”

  I nodded. “She’s right. Go change,” I ordered my father as I ripped off the hat and wig.

  While we waited for him, I wondered if I was cracking up. After all, the woman who lived in too tight, too low-cut clothes and stilettos had just had more sense about clothing than me.

  In an attempt to appear reasonable, I asked Armani, who still wore the cat mask, “Are you going to go out in that?”

  Finally, my father reemerged in worn jeans and a bright red polo shirt. He still glittered, but the outfit was an improvement.

  Wordlessly, I led them out to my car.

  “You forgot me. You forgot me. You forgot me,” Benny complained the moment I opened my car door.

  “Sorry, Benny,” I replied automatically as Armani and Archie jockeyed for who would ride shotgun.

  “Let her ride in the front.” I glared at my father over the top of my car, daring him to argue.

  He let her have the front seat, and Armani immediately peered into the tissue box and waved to the mouse.

  Once he was seated, I asked Archie, “Where to?”

  “Thurston’s.”

  “Who’s Thurston?” Armani asked as I slipped the car into gear.

  I gave my dad a warning look in the rearview mirror. Armani isn’t exactly the soul of discretion, and I didn’t want her to say something to someone else in my family that could get me into trouble.

  To distract her, I said, “Loretta was saying something about a treasure hunt.”

  “It’s so exciting, chica. Your dad and I are going to become treasure hunting partners.”

  “I thought you and Marlene were going to take over the world with male strippers,” I reminded her.

  “I’m a great multi-tasker,” she retorted.

  “Treasure hunting sounds dangerous,” I pointed out.

  “You worry too much,” my father berated.

  I raised an eyebrow at him in the mirror. “Does this have anything to do with Manetti?”

  “Who?” The lie rolled quickly, but unconvincingly, off his tongue.

  “Really?” I asked indignantly. “You’re just going to lie to me to my face?”

  “Technically, he’s lying to the back of your head,” Armani interjected.

  “Shut up,” I growled. “He doesn’t need a defender. He needs to be accountable.”

  Archie sighed audibly. “Fine. Yeah. It has to do with Manetti, but if I told you that, you’d get pissed off.”

  “I’m already pissed off. Lying just makes it worse.”

  “Look, I’m sorry,” Archie began.

  “And fake apologies make it worse, too,” I ranted.

  “What do you want from me, Maggie May?”

  “I want you to stop causing problems. I want you to stop endangering people I love. I want you to grow up, stop lying, and become a responsible person.”

  “That’s a tall order,” he said slowly. “Could I start with just one?”

  “Stop pulling people into your hare-brained schemes,” I snapped.

  “It’s not hare-brained,” he protested. “It’s a genuine opportunity.”

  My blood pressure spiking, I turned my attention to Armani. “And you? You have enough problems with gang members breaking into your house and your disappearing date. You should know better.”

  “I—” she began.

  “And you’ve got plenty of money, so you shouldn’t be chasing after more,” I plowed on.

  “Mad. Mad. Mad,” Benny whisper-squeaked.

  I pulled to a stop in front of the diner. “Out,” I said to my father. “I’ll have Thurston meet you here.”

  “I’m a bit low on funds,” Archie complained.

  I dug into my purse, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, and practically threw it at him. “Out.”

  “Wait!” Armani yelled.

  I gave her a look that would have withered a lesser person. She stared back defiantly. “I need to read his tiles. Where are they?”

  I pulled the purple cloth bag from the panel in the side of my door. “Quickly,” I urged through gritted teeth.

&nb
sp; “You’re a real grouch,” she pointed out.

  “That’s because someone woke me up in the middle of the night,” I reminded her.

  She shook the bag of tiles at my father. “Pick seven.”

  He hesitated.

  “Just do it,” I ordered.

  He pulled out seven and she placed them on the car’s dashboard.

  A E E H R S V

  “What’s it mean?”

  Armani guessed, “Her vase.”

  “Her vase,” Benny repeated three times.

  “And what does that mean?” Archie asked impatiently.

  Armani shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  “So, what’s the point?” he groused.

  “Things often become clear later,” I explained.

  He didn’t look convinced or impressed.

  “Now, get out,” I told him.

  “My own daughter turning me out into the cold, hard world. What have I done to deserve this?”

  I turned in my seat and stared him down. “Do you really want me to give you a list?”

  Flustered, he fumbled for the door handle. “I’ll wait for Thurston.”

  “Excellent idea,” I muttered as he climbed out of the car.

  “You should give him a break,” Armani opined once he’d closed the door and walked into the diner.

  Raising an eyebrow at her, I said, “You should know better than to get involved in one of his schemes.”

  “It’s not a scheme. It’s an adventure.”

  “Is he asking you to finance this ‘adventure’?”

  She waved her good hand at me. “All great adventures require a capital investment.”

  “Yeah, when I was seven, he said the same thing right before he broke open my piggy bank.”

  Armani clucked disapprovingly. “You have unresolved childhood issues.”

  “Most of the world does.” I sighed tiredly. Needing a break from this particular line of conversation, I said, “You know Jack Stern? The reporter?”

  “Mr. Tall, Dark, and Oh-so-handsome with the voice so deep it touches my core, which makes me want him to touch my core?”

  “Umm. Yeah.” I rolled my eyes, but it was actually a pretty good description of Jack.

  “That man fills my dreams and—”

  “He wants to interview you,” I interrupted before she could elaborate on her fantasy.

  “Moi?” She clasped her hand over her heart and fluttered her eyelashes. “Because of PMS?”