by JB Lynn
I couldn’t very well accuse Harry of sexually pressuring me if I was trying to keep up an act of quiet status quo, so I asked, “Can we meet this afternoon?”
“Of course.” He sounded exceedingly pleased with himself, as though he knew he’d pressured me into doing something that made me uncomfortable. “Come by my office at two. I’ll be waiting for you.”
With a last squeeze of my shoulder, he left. He was such a power-hungry little prick. I thought that maybe once I was done with Alfonso I’d turn my gun on Harry.
It wasn’t until he was gone that my phone rang. I glared at it. Now that he’d left I had no desire to pretend to work.
After fielding a few more calls, I left my desk. It was finally lunchtime. I’d made it halfway to my car, halfway to a world of uninterrupted slumber, when Armani’s voice reached me.
“Hey, Chiquita!”
Grudgingly I turned around. She was sitting at a table under a tree, waving me over to join her. I almost told her to leave me the fuck alone, but then thought better of it. If I pissed off Armani, I’d certainly become the center of attention. Last year a fool in human resources had refused to sit with her at the office Christmas party. She’d “predicted” that he was in for a string of bad luck. Then, in a period of seventy-two hours he ended up with four flat tires, all the screws fell out of his desk chair, and a link to a video of him drunkenly warbling Air Supply’s “All Out of Love” spread like wildfire throughout the company.
Pissing off Armani Vasquez was definitely not a good idea, especially when one is trying to keep a low profile, so I dragged myself over to her table.
“You look like hell, Chiquita.”
“Didn’t get much sleep.”
“You’re worried about your niece?” For once all her smart-ass attitude was taking a vacation. She seemed genuinely concerned.
“Among other things.”
She nodded sympathetically. “What did The Jerk want?”
The Jerk was Harry. “To have a private meeting.”
Armani rolled her eyes. Everyone knew what that meant. He’d sit too close. Touch too often. Get way too chummy. “You should report him.”
I shook my head. “Probably. But I’ve got way too many other things to worry about. I can’t handle an H.R. issue on top of everything else.”
“I missed you yesterday. Were you really sick?”
“Needed a mental health day.”
“Good for you.” She unzipped her lunch bag and took out two plastic containers. “You should eat something. You look pale.”
Sleep-deprived, I’d been too tired to pack myself a lunch, and I wasn’t in the mood to make a mad dash for fast food now. “Not hungry.”
She pushed one of the packages across the table at me. “Peanut butter and raspberry jelly. Made it this morning. It’s your favorite, right?”
I stared at her like I’d never set eyes on the woman before. She knew what my favorite sandwich was? She’d made one for me? I pried off the lid and peeked inside. It definitely looked like PB&J. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch . . . except . . .”
I waited for it. I knew such a generous act wouldn’t come without a steep price tag.
But the sandwich looked and smelled awfully good. I found myself saying, “Except what?”
“I need you to be straight with me.”
“About what?”
“About whether or not you’re looking for another job.”
“Your Scrabble tiles haven’t told you?”
She tossed that magnificent head of hair of hers, signaling she wasn’t amused by my crack.
“No. I’m not looking for another job.”
“You swear?”
I nodded.
“Good. You being here is the only part of this job that keeps me sane.”
Opening the container, I took out half a sandwich and bit into it. I considered pointing out that I probably wasn’t the best barometer of sanity, what with the fact I was holding regular conversations with a lizard and I was gearing up to kill a man.
“If you left, I’d lose my mind.”
Something I’d apparently already done. “Which would make you different . . . how?”
“I’m starting to think your inner Chiquita is a real bitch,” Armani complained. But she was smiling.
Chapter Sixteen
NOTHING TESTS ONE’S grip on sanity like a family dinner.
That was the conclusion I reached before we even sat down. It was Aunt Leslie and Loretta’s birthday. A celebration that had been scheduled long before the car accident. Aunt Loretta loved, loved, loved her birthday. She adored being the center of attention. She felt like she deserved to be showered with gifts. As her twin, Aunt Leslie just sort of went along for the ride.
Aunt Susan called and left a message to remind me that dinner was that night at seven. I had just enough time to run over to the hospital after work to visit with Katie for an hour, before heading on over to the B&B for what should have been a birthday bash, but had morphed into a family dinner. Meaning me, the three aunts, Alice, and Loretta’s latest paramour, the one Alice had warned me about. Claiming to be suffering from jet lag, Lamont had the good sense to hide out in his room, which was too bad; everyone might have been on better behavior if he’d been there.
Luckily I had their gifts in the trunk of my car, where they had been for weeks. I am a woman of many faults, but I am actually an awesome gift buyer. I pride myself on finding the perfect gift for each recipient. I shop often and early. And I always have the presents wrapped by professionals, because yet another thing I suck at is gift wrapping. The average five-year-old does a way better job than me. I can’t cut in a straight line, I can’t fold for shit, and the tape sticks to everything but where I’m actually trying to place it.
As a general rule, I actually like most of Aunt Loretta’s suitors. Usually the poor guys are besotted with her. It doesn’t seem to matter if they’re forty or ninety, she’s got them wrapped around her little finger—poor saps. But I took an instant dislike to her latest man, even before we were introduced. Just the smarmy way he was talking to Alice from across the room had me on edge. He was standing a tad too close to her. His suit was almost too well-cut for him to be called dapper. His smile seemed too wide to be real.
After Aunt Loretta had showered me with air kisses, so as not to muss her make-up, she dragged me across the sitting room to introduce us. “Templeton, this is my niece, Margaret. Margaret, this is Templeton.”
Alice, stepping away immediately, seemed grateful to be offered the chance to escape from the old coot.
So far the only thing Loretta’s date had going for him was that he was actually age-appropriate for my aunt. He extended a tanned hand toward me, a twinkle in his eyes. “Your niece? Why you two look like sisters!”
Loretta giggled girlishly at the compliment, while I grit my teeth. His words taken another way meant that I looked like I’d already passed the half-century mark.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Margaret.” He pressed his lying lips to the back of my hand.
“I’m sorry,” I said with my most charming smile, “Did she say your name was Templeton?”
He nodded.
“Like the rat?”
Taken aback, he dropped my hand as though he’d just realized I carried the bubonic plague.
“Margaret!” Aunt Loretta gasped.
“The rat in Charlotte’s Web,” I explained smoothly. “I’d never heard anyone except the rat called Templeton before.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” Aunt Susan said archly from behind me.
I flinched. I hadn’t noticed her enter the room.
“Dinner’s ready. Margaret, will you help me serve?” Susan requested.
“Of course.”
Obediently we all filed into the dining room. Aunt Leslie was already seated at the middle of the table. Swirling the water in her drinking glass, she seemed to be studying it intently.
I noticed that Alice sat down next to her immediately. Sad when the best company at the table is stoned. I saw Templeton maneuvering to sit beside her, so I called out, “Save me a seat, Alice?”
Flashing a smile of gratitude in my direction, she offered a silent shrug of an apology at Templeton, who had the good sense not to reveal any disappointment he might have been experiencing.
Following Aunt Susan into the kitchen, I said, “Smells good.”
Glancing over her shoulder, she asked, “Since when do you say any form of seafood is appetizing?”
My dislike of anything that comes out of the ocean is legendary in my family.
I shrugged. “I smell garlic.”
“Shrimp scampi.” She busied herself with stirring one of the steaming pots on the stove. “Would you put the salad on the table?”
Opening the fridge, I pulled out the bowl of crisp greens. I never understood why she made such gigantic salads. She was the only one who ever ate them.
“A rat,” Susan muttered.
I braced myself. I’d known this was coming. “It was the first thing that popped into my head.”
Susan put the wooden spoon down on its rest and turned to look at me. “I doubt that.”
I didn’t argue with her.
“That was your favorite book when you were a girl. You went around greeting everyone with ‘Salutations!’ for about six months. You were a precocious child.”
I squeezed the sides of the dish. “Who matured into a disappointing adult?”
She shook her head. “Now you sound like your grandmother.”
I wondered what she meant by that. I realized she was right, but still I wanted to know exactly why she’d said it.
“The balsamic dressing is in the crystal pitcher. It’s already on the table. If you’ll have Alice dish that out. . . .” Turning away from me, she resumed stirring.
Dismissed, I carried the rabbit food to where the ravenous diners were poised to devour it.
Aunt Leslie was humming “Puff the Magic Dragon” when I burst into the dining room.
I was holding the bowl so tightly that my hands ached. As I put it down, Alice caught my eye. She looked worried. The problem with having a friend for over twenty years is that she can read me like a street sign. I offered her a weak smile to let her know I was okay, turned on my heel, and headed back into the kitchen for round two.
“How much was Aunt Leslie puffing today?” I asked.
Susan frowned. “Why?”
“She’s singing about the Magic Dragon.” I grabbed the oversized, handmade clay bread basket. It was filled with an assortment of dinner rolls.
“Tread gently tonight, Margaret. It’s a hard day for them.”
“I guess getting older is a bitch.”
Aunt Susan was rummaging around in the refrigerator, her back to me. “They miss your mother.”
“Uh huh.”
She handed me the crystal butter dish. She was using all the good stuff tonight. “For most of their lives, those three celebrated their birthdays together. Mary’s birthday is next week you know.”
“I knew that!” I left the kitchen before my aunt could call my bluff. Before she could guess I’d forgotten when my own mother’s birthday is. I’d blocked it out.
I practically threw the bread and butter on the table. Not that anyone noticed. Loretta and Leslie were in the midst of an argument about a long-dead relative who might or might not have killed himself depending on whose version of family history you believed, while Alice was pretending to be enthralled by some tall tale Templeton was weaving about a baseball and a kangaroo . . . or was it a koala bear? I always get those two mixed up.
“Can I ask you something?” I asked Aunt Susan as I swung back into the kitchen.
“Of course.”
“When did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That Mom was . . .” Remembering God berating me for my lack of sensitivity, I purged the words loony, nuts, and crazy from my tongue. “Different.”
“The day she brought Archie home.” Susan made no effort to hide the hostility she felt for my father.
“Really?” If associating with dangerous men was the first sign, then I must be well on my way to the nuthouse, since I’d found myself enjoying the company of Patrick Mulligan.
“No. Not really.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “What was the first sign?”
“It was a long time ago. I don’t remember.”
“Did she start talking to things . . . animals?” If she confirmed that was my mother’s first symptom, I was going to book myself a suite at the funny farm.
I didn’t know Aunt Susan could move so quickly. Before I knew what was happening, she’d crossed the room, grabbed both of my upper arms and was shaking me. “Is this because I said you reminded me of her?”
“I . . . no.” It wasn’t like I could tell her my real reason for asking. “Geez, chill out, Aunt Susan.”
“You’re nothing like her, Margaret. Nothing. You’re strong. You’re pig-headed sometimes—a lot of the time—but you’re stronger than she ever was. Tougher. Don’t you forget that.” Her voice wavered at the end, and I thought I saw her eyes glistening with tears, but I couldn’t be sure because she yanked me into her. Hugging me tightly, she murmured. “You’re a fighter, Margaret. This family needs more fighters.”
Aunt Leslie is a big hugger. Aunt Loretta is a kisser. Aunt Susan was never one to demonstrate warmth. But this embrace of hers felt surprisingly like . . . affection. The day must have been hard on her, too.
Feeling bad for upsetting her, I patted her back. “I’m sorry. I—”
“And for the record,” she whispered in my ear. “I think you’re right about Templeton being a rat.”
Chapter Seventeen
NOTHING EARTH-SHATTERING HAPPENED because Aunt Susan and I agreed about something, though I spent the entire meal expecting it to.
Alice and I took over the clean-up duties, which gave us a chance to catch up while the witches and the rat chatted in the sitting room. By the time the last glass was dried, I knew about her latest adventure, including the details of her relationship with her baby-daddy, Lamont.
“You seem . . . preoccupied,” Alice said, as I tied up the garbage bag reeking of shellfish. “You must have a lot on your mind.”
Busying myself with finding a fresh trash bag, I muttered, “I do.” I’d spent a good part of the evening waiting for the “dump” phone in my pocket to buzz, signaling that Patrick had come up with a plan for me to kill Alfonso Cifelli.
It had been a surreal experience to sing “Happy Birthday” while knowing that with every passing moment I was getting closer to killing a man.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I shook my head.
“She’s going to be okay,” Alice said with an eager smile. “I have a good feeling about Katie.”
“Thanks. Every positive thought helps.” I didn’t really believe that bullshit, but I knew saying it would make my old friend feel better. The only thing that was going to help Katie right now was dollars. A lot of them. That was why Alfonso had to die. Soon.
Using the excuse that I had to be at work bright and early the next morning, I said my good-byes and made as early an escape as I politely could. I checked my cell the moment I got into my car. Patrick hadn’t called.
Laying the phone on the seat beside me, I headed for home. Two minutes later it rang. Snatching it up, I pressed it to my ear as I coasted through a yellow light.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Mags.”
No one besides him had ever called me Mags. It made me feel all warm and tingly inside when he said it. I felt special.
“So, I’ve got a plan,” he continued. “Can you meet me at the McDonald’s on Washington Street tomorrow morning?”
“I’ve got to work. Remember, Rule Number One?”
“You start at nine. Be at Mickey D’s at eight.”
I groaned. I am not a morning person. “Okay.”
“And wear comfortable shoes.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s part—”
A siren wailed, interrupting him. A glance in my rearview mirror had me nearly blinded by flashing lights.
“Oh crap. I’m getting pulled over.”
“Stay calm, Mags. Keep your hands on the wheel and just act normal.”
He hung up before I could ask what “acting normal” looked like.
Tossing the phone on the seat, I grabbed the steering wheel with both hands. I coasted onto the shoulder of the road and pulled to a stop. The police car followed me.
“Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap.” Was I going to end up in prison before I’d even committed a crime? Thankfully, the gun Patrick had brought me was still under the mattress in my apartment. What evidence could they have on me? What cause did they have to even stop me?”
“License and registration,” a no-nonsense male voice demanded.
I squinted up at his shadowy figure, but his flashlight was shining in my eyes so I couldn’t see much.
“License and registration, please, ma’am.”
“Of course.”
Leaning across the car, I popped open my glove compartment. A cloud of napkins from fast-food joints spilled out. Sifting through the remaining papers, I found my vehicle registration. I handed it to the police officer before picking up my purse to find my driver’s license. Finding it, I gave that to him, too.
“Could you please step out of the vehicle, Miss Lee?” He opened my door.
Fumbling for the seat belt release, I stuttered, “Is s-s-something wrong, Officer?”
“Are you aware that it’s against the law in this state to talk on a cellular phone while operating a moving vehicle without a hands-free headset?”
Freed from the safety device, I climbed out of the car. “I am.” There was no point in lying about it. There were signs everywhere reminding drivers of that very fact.
“Please wait here.”
He walked back to his vehicle. I stood by the side of the road, watching the traffic whiz by. I tried a deep-breathing exercise Alice had taught me once. It was supposed to relax me. It didn’t work.