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

by Lynn, JB

I frowned. “Do you have any better ideas?”

  “Better? No. But I do believe that there may be better motivations.”

  “Like what?” I asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

  “My uncle put a lot of bad people away. It could be that one of them is after revenge.”

  I nodded slowly. “I kind of like my scenarios better.”

  “Me, too,” Brian muttered. “Me, too.”

  When we got back to the B&B, Armani and her entourage had returned.

  Armani looked pleased with herself—Aunt Loretta was sporting even more fake eyelashes than usual and smelled like she’d gone for a swim in a vat of her Sex Goddess perfume, price tags still hung from Marlene’s new outfit, and poor Templeton looked shell-shocked.

  Armani, Marlene, and Loretta hurried into the house, babbling about the “divine” chocolates they’d brought back to share. Templeton just stared dejectedly at the contents of the trunk of his car that was overflowing with shopping bags.

  “I’m going to talk to Armani,” Brian declared, striding toward the house with a sense of purpose.

  “Good luck,” Templeton muttered. “They’re all on a shopping high.”

  “I’ll help you carry this in,” I offered. “Let me just put DeeDee in the backyard.”

  “I’d appreciate the help.” Templeton leaned tiredly against the car to wait for me.

  I let the dog loose in the yard.

  “You know you have to talk to him, don’t you?” God asked.

  “Templeton?” I asked, confused.

  “Your father. It’s not a coincidence that you found that coin at Armani’s place. You have to find out what the connection is.”

  “I know, but I thought I’d ask her about it first,” I murmured under my breath before saying loudly to Templeton, “Should we just make a giant pile of this stuff in the foyer?”

  He nodded. “I don’t suppose the detective is here to tell Armani that her case is solved and she can move out?”

  “Afraid not.”

  He frowned and resignedly began to pick up shopping bags.

  I wanted to say something to reassure him, but I had too many other things to worry about.

  Once Brian Griswald left, I pulled Armani into Katie’s old bedroom, sat her down on the pink princess bed, and pulled the coin out of my pocket.

  “Care to explain this?”

  I held it up for her to examine but snatched it away when she reached for it.

  “You shouldn’t taunt a differently abled person,” she teased lightly. “That’s what survived the fire?”

  “I found it in the yard.”

  “Look at that! You’re a successful private private eye. I knew hiring you was a good idea.”

  I didn’t bother to tell her that my investigative prowess consisted of digging around in mud. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “Hmmmmm…” She considered the coin carefully. “It must mean something. Maybe it’s a sign from the spirits. Or a symbol.”

  I sat down on the bed beside her and handed over the coin. “Where did you get it?”

  “For services rendered.” She turned it over in her palm.

  I frowned. I’d been hoping it would be a straightforward kind of thing like she’d bought it to celebrate her lottery win.

  “What kind of services?” I asked. After all, she is not only a Psychic Matchmaker, she’s got a side business as an interior decorator with a former Animal Control officer, the girlfriend of our ex-boss from Insuring the Future.

  “PMS.”

  “Somebody paid you for setting them up on a date with a gold coin?” For anyone else that would have sounded strange, but coming from her, it sounded pretty normal. I relaxed a little.

  “He has a problem with his credit,” she explained.

  Something in her tone made me suspicious. “Why does he have bad credit?”

  “He hasn’t had a job in a while.”

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged.

  “You didn’t ask?”

  “I’m not the credit score police. I’m a matchmaker. I’m more concerned with compatibility than credit checks.”

  “And what’s this guy’s name?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Jay? Jim? James? Jimmy?”

  Internal alarm bells rang as I thought about Jimmy Manetti and the gold coin he’d given my mother to give to my father. I tried not to reveal my suspicions to Armani. “And how did you come to render services for him?”

  “We started talking.”

  “Where?”

  “At that coffee shop near me. I go every day since it’s close to home.” Tears came to her eyes and she gulped loudly. “It’s close to where home used to be.”

  I patted her shoulder soothingly, even though I immediately wondered if someone knew her pattern and had just “happened” to show up. “Tell me the rest of the story.”

  Dashing away her tears with her good hand, she nodded and took a deep breath. “Anyway, I was there, at my regular table, having my regular pistachio muffin smothered with steak sauce ”

  The combo sounded nauseating to me and I wondered if I’d turned the same shade of green as the muffin.

  “When he sat down opposite me,” she continued, oblivious to how her food choice impacted me.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Why what?”

  “Why did he sit with you?”

  “Because it was meant to be,” she said, like I was an idiot not to know that. “I was meant to help him find his true love.”

  “Did she?” God asked.

  Armani tried to look down my shirt. “What did the little guy say?”

  Leaning away from her, I answered, “He wants to know if you found the true love of the guy.”

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t work like that.”

  “And yet he paid you,” I pointed out. “Apparently, for services you didn’t actually render.”

  Armani scowled at me and tossed her hair indignantly. “I told him I’d work on it.”

  “And he just handed you a gold coin?”

  She nodded.

  I did my best to ask calmly, “And you didn’t find that odd?”

  She waved off my concern. “Why would I?”

  “Because payment in gold doubloons isn’t a currency used in today’s world,” I practically shrieked at her.

  It was her turn to lean back away from me.

  Marlene chose that moment to knock on the door and stick her head in. “We’re ordering Chinese. What do you guys want?”

  Armani’s disgusting order rolled right off her tongue. “General Tso’s Chicken with lobster sauce and extra hot-and-sour sauce.”

  Marlene blanched a little but nodded her understanding. She looked to me.

  “I’ve got plans for dinner,” I told my sister.

  Shrugging, she turned and left.

  “A date with dreamy Angel?” Armani asked hopefully, nudging my shoulder with hers.

  “No. Sort of private private eye stuff,” I replied.

  “Now she’s got you saying it,” God groaned.

  “He doesn’t approve of the private private thing,” I explained before Armani could ask what he’d said.

  “Are you chasing down a lead?” Excitement gleamed in her dark eyes.

  “I’m going with Jack Stern to check something out.”

  She waggled her eyebrows. “I’d check out what he’s got under that jacket of his, if you know what I mean.”

  I shook my head. “It’s a purely professional arrangement.”

  She sighed heavily, dismayed at my lack of interest in the reporter. “Speaking of checking things out, Templeton made a good suggestion.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “He said that I should hire you to drive me around and shop for my new home.”

  “Gee, that was swell of him,” I said sarcastically.

  “Forgive him,” God urged. “He was overwhelmed by the abundance of estrogen.”

  Armani look
ed at me expectantly.

  “He says we should go house shopping tomorrow,” I lied smoothly.

  She beamed her approval. “It’ll be so much fun.”

  Personally, I thought it sounded hellish. Glancing at my watch, I got to my feet. “I should probably get ready to go. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  I was almost at the door when she called, “Maggie?”

  I turned back to look at her. “Yeah?”

  “Have fun tonight.”

  God scoffed. “More like, Don’t get yourself killed tonight.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  After I showered and dressed for my dinner at Soliloquy, I went in the backyard to tell DeeDee it was time to come in. An idea I put on temporary hold when I saw that she was lying on the ground beside Katie, who was talking to her animatedly.

  I was momentarily startled and outraged that Katie was out all by herself, but then I looked around and spotted Darlene standing at the window of the house watching them. She raised a hand in acknowledgment and then walked away from the window now that I was there to look after our niece.

  Katie noticed me then. She studied me for a long moment. “You’re all dressed up.”

  “I’m going out to dinner.”

  “Your dress is pretty.”

  A painful lump rose in my throat. I swallowed hard, not wanting to get emotional in front of her. If I did, I might have to explain that the black dress I wore was the one I’d worn to her parents’ funeral.

  Oblivious, she asked, “Did you talk to Dominic’s grandpa so we can have a play date?”

  “Not yet,” I told her quietly. “But I might see him tonight, and if I do, I’ll ask.”

  The irony that I’d been wearing this very dress the first time I’d met Delveccio, after preventing his son-in-law from smothering Dominic in his hospital bed, wasn’t lost on me.

  “What were you talking to DeeDee about?” I asked.

  “We miss Aunt Susan,” Katie admitted, slowly getting to her feet. “When is she coming back?”

  That was the question everyone was wondering.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. Seeing her disappointment, I added hurriedly, “Soon, I hope.”

  “I hope so, too.”

  Bending, I picked her up and gave her a great snuggling hug. “I have to leave and you have to go have dinner. What’s Aunt Darlene making tonight?”

  “Mac and cheese!”

  “Yum!” I kissed her cheek.

  “And then we’re going to the movies and we’ll be up way past our bedtime,”

  Katie crowed, clapping her hands with delight.

  I wondered why Darlene was keeping them out so late but decided second-guessing her parenting style was probably not the way to go. “Sounds fun.”

  “You won’t forget to ask about the play date?”

  “I won’t,” I promised, carrying her back to Darlene’s house.

  But after things went sideways at Soliloquy, I totally forgot.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes early, but Jack was already there, waiting. He’d dressed up for the occasion, wearing a red tie beneath his black leather jacket.

  “Best-looking stakeout buddy I’ve ever had,” he approved as I walked across the parking lot to him, fighting the urge to wobble in the uncomfortable high heels.

  “Is this a stakeout?”

  “A catered stakeout.” He laughed, then offered me his arm and a devilish grin. “Ready to do this?”

  Swallowing the nervous lump that rose in my throat, I nodded and linked my arm through his as we walked into the restaurant.

  The hostess approached us immediately, a smile as fake and tacky as the gilt mirrors that lined the entrance glued to her face and menus clutched to her chest, which obviously wasn’t a naturally occurring phenomena. “Do you have a reservation?”

  “We do indeed.” Jack gave her his information and she led us to a table against a window.

  “Bert will be with you in just a moment,” the hostess promised before walking away.

  While we waited for the waiter’s arrival, Jack and I both surreptitiously surveyed the room. The dining room of dark wood and faded velvet was already half-full. I was relieved to determine that Delveccio was not one of the current occupants. My life was complicated enough and I already had plenty on my mind without having to navigate the landmines of a meeting between the mob boss and the crime reporter.

  “I talked to Armani earlier,” Jack said.

  I glanced over at him, unsure if this was a real conversation or him just keeping up the pretense we were on a date. His eyes were methodically sweeping over the room.

  “Did you?” I asked, feigning interest.

  “She seemed a bit…giddy?” Jack continued. “Not like someone who just had her home blown up.”

  “You probably caught her during her post-shopping high. Did you set up—”

  I was interrupted by the arrival of Bert.

  The waiter looked a lot like the majority of the clientele; older, and trying really hard, too hard.

  “Good evening.” Bending forward, he used a cigarette lighter to try to ignite the wick of the candle in the red glass votive holder at the center of our white tablecloth-topped table. “A little mood lighting.”

  Jack smirked.

  I smirked even more when I realized Bert couldn’t get his lighter to spark.

  “It’s okay,” Jack told him after Bert’s fourth attempt. “My personality is sparkling enough. We don’t need the extra light.”

  Bert glanced around nervously. “Oh no. The boss wouldn’t like that. The boss wouldn’t like that, at all. Let me just go get another lighter.” He scurried away.

  Jack reached into his pocket, pulled out a lighter, and lit the candle.

  “You smoke?” I asked, surprised.

  He shook his head. “It’s a multipurpose tool. Handy if I need to burn notes or evidence or set a small fire as a distraction.”

  I stared at him, unable to tell whether he was teasing about the pyromaniac quality or not.

  He chuckled at my reaction but made no effort to illuminate me further.

  Bert returned, a fresh lighter in hand, only to stare, thoroughly stumped by the now flickering candle. Finally, he roused himself enough to ask, “Did you see our wine list?”

  “Club soda for me,” Jack said quickly. He looked across the table, a definite warning that I needed to keep my wits about me shining in his gaze.

  “The same for me,” I ordered smoothly, squashing the irritation that rose in me at Jack’s bossiness. He had no idea that I’d done plenty of stakeouts (okay, just a couple) and knew enough to stay sober.

  Bert nodded and scuttled away with one last confused look at the burning candle.

  “Three o’clock,” Jack said as soon as he’d left.

  I glanced at my watch. It was definitely not three o’clock.

  “Look to your three o’clock,” Jack elaborated through gritted teeth.

  I turned to my right and found myself staring at Delveccio. I may have audibly gulped.

  “Subtle,” Jack mocked under his breath.

  Catching my eye, Delveccio waved enthusiastically.

  Offering the mobster a weak smile, I raised a hand.

  He beckoned me over.

  I winced.

  “You should go,” Jack urged.

  “I’ll make it quick,” I promised, starting to stand.

  “Take your time. The more time we kill, the more time we spend, the more chance we have of seeing something useful.”

  Playing the part of a dutiful date, he stood as I did and warmly pressed my arm.

  Afraid he’d do something terrible like kiss me on the cheek, I practically ran away. I didn’t need Delveccio telling his nephew, Angel, that I was making out with some other guy.

  “Hi.” My voice squeaked a little as I reached Delveccio’s table.

  “Always a pleasure to see you.” He patted the empt
y chair at a ninety-degree angle to him. “Sit.”

  His bodyguard, Gino, standing a few paces away, nodded at me.

  I slid into the chair as his waiter, a younger guy with tattoos peeking out from beneath his shirt cuffs, brought a huge antipasto platter to the table. “No wine tonight, Mr. D.?”

  “Not tonight, Fredo. Doctor’s orders.”

  I looked at him sharply, alarmed by the idea that he might be ill.

  Dismissed, the waiter respectfully disappeared.

  Delveccio speared a generous chunk of sopressa with his steak knife and ate the hunk of salty meat right off the blade.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  Raising his eyebrows, he said, “Concerned about my well-being?”

  “Well, if a doctor…” I trailed off, catching the glint of amusement in his eyes.

  “I just need to keep my wits about me,” he said, spearing another hunk of meat with his knife.

  “That can’t be good,” God whispered.

  Delveccio, thankfully, gave no indication that he heard him. “So, you’re choosing the reporter over my nephew?” the mob boss said in a deceptively mild tone.

  I shook my head.

  “No, you’re not, or no, you’re refusing to discuss your love life with me?”

  “Both.”

  He grinned. “I got dozens of tough guys in my employ. Guys who’d mess you up if you even look at them the wrong way, but nobody gives me as much guff as you.”

  I shrugged helplessly. “I’m not trying to give you guff.”

  He threw back his head and laughed, the noise attracting the attention of our fellow diners.

  I sat up a little straighter. “Are you expecting trouble? Is that why you’re not drinking?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.

  “In my business, you always have to expect trouble. It’s the only way to stay alive.”

  “Well, that’s a good thing for you to do,” I murmured.

  “You may be the only person who worries about my well-being.” Delveccio chuckled.

  I shook my head. “I’m sure Angel would be concerned.”

  “My nephew is a professional worrier. Speaking of which, should he be worried about the competition from the reporter?” He looked over at Jack, who was nonchalantly surveying the room.

  Catching the mobster’s gaze, he raised his glass of water in a toast.