The Hitwoman and the Poisoned Apple (Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman Book 8)

by JB Lynn

  I nodded. I’d thought the same thing at times, but now that I knew Templeton played poker with known criminals and frequented a local pawn shop, I wasn’t convinced he was right for my Aunt Loretta. Which is saying something since she was once married to a drug dealer and had been involved with a dirty cop. “Have you seen him?”

  “Oh yeah. He was in here making himself a cup of tea a little while ago.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. Templeton was home.

  “I got the impression that Loretta is smothering him with kindness.” Bob laughed.

  “She’s been known to do that.”

  Loretta may be a bit of a flaky nymphomaniac, but she takes care of those she loves.

  “Well, I’ll let you get back to work,” I told Bob, moving toward the door.

  “You really should call my sister,” Bob told me. “No matter what happens with me and Susan, she’d like to give you a job.”

  I smiled at him gratefully. “Thanks. I keep meaning to do that, but things have been so crazy...” I waved my hands, trying to encompass the insanity that passes for my day-to-day.

  “I understand. Well just know the offer’s still open.”

  “Thanks,” I murmured, stepping through the doorway.

  I walked quickly intent on checking in on Templeton to see if he needed anything. It was the least I could do, considering I’d forgotten all about him.

  “Maggie?” a familiar voice called as I sped past the dining room.

  Stopping in my tracks, my stomach lurched traitorously. I turned back, bracing myself for more bad news. What had my father gone and done this time?

  I found US Marshal Griswald sitting at the dining room table, polishing a silver candelabra. “Marshal Griswald?”

  “Thought that was you,” he offered me a friendly smile.

  The corners of my mouth twitched, but I doubted it resembled a grin.

  “Did you hear about Mulligan?”

  “Huh?” I blurted out dumbly, so surprised that he wasn’t regaling me with my father’s latest misadventure, that I couldn’t follow his train of thought.

  “Detective Patrick Mulligan. The one who took care of your dog,” he prompted. “He’s in the hospital. Poisoned.”

  Remembering that I’d run into Griswald’s nephew Brian at the hospital, I decided it wasn’t the time to play dumb. “Brian told me.” The terrible thought that something worse might have befallen Patrick occurred to me. “Did something else happen?”

  Griswald shook his head. “No he appears to be on the mend.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  Griswald raised his sharp gaze from the candelabra to me.

  I swallowed hard, wondering what he saw. “Is that why you’re here?”

  He shook his head, his gaze assessing.

  “Is... Did my father do something else stupid?” I asked.

  Sympathy replaced suspicion in his eyes. “Oh you poor girl.” He indicated I should sit down in the seat opposite him. “I’m sorry I worried you. I should have known that you’d expect the worst with my arrival.”

  Knees weak with relief that at least I didn’t have to deal with one of Dad’s ill-planned schemes, I sat down and grabbed an oatmeal cookie from the platter at the center of the table.

  “No. Your father is still in custody. Still lined up to testify.”

  “Excellent.” I’d made a deal, getting my father into the Witness Protection Program in exchange for his testimony about the Lubovsky crime family, but recently he’d escaped from the custody of the US Marshals guarding him so he could visit my mother one last time.

  “I’m here to see your aunt,” Griswald explained.

  “And she put you to work polishing?” I bit into the cookie, finding solace in the sweet, chewiness.

  He shook his head. “No. I haven’t seen her. Loretta offered me cookies while I waited for Susan, so I figured I’d make myself useful. I actually enjoy polishing. I find it meditative.”

  I thought about Griswald sitting here and Bob working in the kitchen and wondered if perhaps Susan was hiding from both of her would-be suitors. Considering I’d never known Susan to hide from anything, it made me think that maybe Leslie was right and that her sister was in more trouble than I’d previously imagined.

  I didn’t think that was appropriate to discuss with one of the men she was avoiding, so I instead asked Griswald, “Do they know who poisoned Detective Griswald?’

  “Not that I’ve heard.” He shrugged. “It’s usually the significant other.”

  I remembered the grim expression on Patrick’s wife as she’d maneuvered through the crowded hospital hallway. Was she upset that her attempt on her husband’s life had failed?

  “It’s hard to get close enough to someone to poison them,” Griswald continued.

  I nodded. I knew that from personal experience. When I’d been hired to kill Loretta’s aforementioned drug dealer ex-husband, I was supposed to poison him. It had proved harder than I’d imagined and then, when I’d finally gotten my chance, I’d chickened out, not wanting his family to see him suffer. Luckily for me, he’d been killed by a falling disco ball, which Delveccio had thought was my brilliant doing, so I’d maintained my highly effective assassin status.

  “How did Brian come to tell you about Mulligan?” Griswald put down his polishing cloth and reached for a cookie.

  “I ran into him at the hospital.” I took another bite.

  “You were visiting your niece?”

  I nodded, swallowing the cookie.

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Much better. She’s almost ready to come home.”

  “You’re bringing her here?” While Griswald’s voice was even, I thought I heard a note of incredulity in it.

  I shrugged. “I could use the help. Being responsible for a kid wasn’t exactly in my life plan. I’m not really cut out for it.”

  “Really?” Griswald sounded surprised. “I think you’ll be great at it.”

  I chuckled. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

  “No. Really.” He reached toward me.

  I thought he was going to grab my wrist, but at the last second, he pulled away.

  He fixed an earnest stare on me instead. “I’ve seen firsthand how you take care of your family, Maggie. I know how much you love them. That’s all being a parent is, loving and care.”

  I froze, taken aback by the level of intensity in his voice.

  “You’ll be great,” he reiterated.

  Touched by his belief in me, I found myself overwhelmed with gratitude. All I could do was nod.

  Sitting back, he frowned. “Not that it’s any of my business. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “No.” I hurried to assure him. “I’m glad you did. I appreciate it. I really do. You have no idea how much sleep I lose over this.”

  “You’re afraid?” he guessed.

  “You’ve met my family. It’s not like I’m bringing the kid into the most stable of environments. Couple that with the fact I don’t know what I’m doing and I could screw her up for life. And that doesn’t take into account...” I trailed off, my throat squeezing shut.

  “The fact that her parents died?” Griswald prompted gently.

  I nodded.

  “Or the fact you haven’t had a chance to properly grieve your sister’s loss yourself.”

  The quiet statement felt like a sucker punch to the gut and I gasped.

  “You must miss her.”

  His eyes held such sympathy that I couldn’t help but admit “So much” before bursting into tears.

  As great heaving sobs shook me to my core, Griswald rounded the table, and wrapped a reassuring arm around my shoulders.

  “I miss her so much,” I wailed as the pain of her loss washed over me again, feeling as fresh and intense as it had the moment I’d found out she’d died in the car accident.

  “I know,” Griswald mumbled, holding onto me tightly as though afraid my grief would cause me to physically sha
tter.

  “She was the best of us.” I gasped, trying to talk and breathe and cry simultaneously. “She was the one who was supposed to take care of me.”

  “There, there,” Griswald soothed. “Just let it out, Maggie.”

  I drew in a deep shuddering breath, trying to regain control. “What for? Tears won’t do anyone any good.”

  “I disagree,” he murmured. “I think tears are the way of washing out the soul. Otherwise your grief will fester and infect every aspect of your life.”

  Dashing away my tears, I struggled to focus on him. “Where’d you come up with that?”

  He smiled sadly. “You’re not the only one who’s suffered a devastating loss.”

  “I know.” I gulped, suddenly feeling selfish for indulging in my pity party.

  “That doesn’t mean you’re not entitled to rage and sob,” he told me gently. “What happened was terrible. What you’ve been saddled with is unfair. Express your feelings, otherwise they’ll eat you alive.”

  “But I’m so scared.” I hiccupped. Scared of how much it hurt. Scared that I wouldn’t be able to help Katie navigate through her similar pain. Scared that this whole ordeal would break me and I’d end up sharing a room with my mother in a mental health facility.

  “There’s nothing wrong with fear,” Griswald said. “Fear means that you’re not filled with self-delusion. Fear can keep us safe. Think about the first time you burnt yourself on a hot stove. Fear probably has kept you from getting burnt many more times. The trick is to recognize your fear and figure out how to deal with it. Pretending it’s not there or hiding from it isn’t the solution.” Sensing I’d calmed down, he released his grip on my shoulders. “After all, you can’t go through your whole life without using a stove.”

  “I can,” I quipped weakly. “That’s why microwaves were invented.”

  Griswald chuckled. “Your aunt may have mentioned something about that.”

  I found myself smiling through my tears.

  Then Aunt Leslie burst in. “What are you doing? Isn’t it bad enough that you’re toying with my sister’s heart? Now you’ve reduced my niece to tears.”

  To his credit, Griswald didn’t wither beneath her attack and he didn’t fight back. He just met her gaze with a kind of resolute patience that I admired and wished I could cultivate in myself.

  “Stop it,” I cried, jumping to my feet. “Don’t you dare speak to him like that.”

  Leslie glared at me like I was a traitor. “Weak leg, remember?”

  Ignoring her reference to Susan, I defended the man who’d been so kind to me. “You owe Marshal Griswald an apology. He didn’t do anything to upset me. He just offered support.”

  “Then why are you crying?”

  “Because I miss Teresa!” I screamed at my aunt.

  Blinking, Leslie took a step backward.

  “I miss her so much, it’s a physical ache, but there’s no one I can talk to about that because all of you are so wrapped up in your own personal dramas.”

  “I…” Leslie began.

  But I plowed right over her, intent on having my say. “And then you all expect me to help you solve your problems.”

  “Maybe you should take a breath,” Griswald suggested, grabbing my elbow.

  I would have told him to shut up, but I realized he was right. I’d forgotten to breathe. I swayed unsteadily, my chest burning as my body signaled my oxygen deprivation. I sucked in a deep breath, my eyes now watering instead of leaking tears.

  “We didn’t know,” Leslie murmured softly.

  “Well now you do,” I gasped. “So stop berating one of the few people who actually gives a damn about how I feel.” I turned to Griswald who released my arm as I pivoted. “Thank you.”

  He nodded solemnly. “You’re welcome. Anytime you want to talk about it…”

  Impetuously, I closed the distance between us and hugged him tightly. Tears once again welled in my eyes, but this time they were due to gratitude, not grief.

  “Time helps,” he whispered in my ear, hugging me back. “You’re a strong young lady and you’ll be okay, but you don’t have to do it all alone. You shouldn’t do it all alone.”

  I nodded my understanding, afraid that if I attempted to speak, I’d start to sob again.

  Releasing me, he stepped back and gave me a reassuring nod. Then he looked over to Leslie, who leaned against the wall, looking a bit shell-shocked.

  As I walked out of the room, intent on escaping to the sanctuary provided by the basement, I heard him say, “I didn’t upset your niece and I’m not trying to hurt your sister, but it’s only fair to warn you that you’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”

  Chapter 4

  “There’s no place here for any more hysterical females,” God groused as I descended the stairs into the basement.

  “Gotta! Gotta! Gotta! Gotta!” DeeDee whined hysterically as though trying to prove his point.

  Crossing the space quickly, I opened the storm door to let her out into the backyard before she had an accident.

  “What were you carrying on about up there?” God asked.

  “Leslie was being an ass,” I muttered. “I liked her so much better when she was a spaced-out pothead.”

  “Me too,” the lizard agreed.

  “So besides the dog needing to relieve herself, what’s this hysteria thing about?”

  The lizard lifted his little leg to point at the couch.

  I walked over and dropped to my knees. “Are you under there, Piss?”

  The cat’s only response was an angry hiss.

  I looked at the lizard for guidance. He made a circling motion beside his head to indicate he thought the feline was crazy.

  Lifting the flap of the sofa, I peered beneath. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  “No.” She sounded more like a petulant child than the Southern belle I’m accustomed to dealing with.

  “Can you come out so that I can get a good look at you?”

  “No. You don’t want to help me.”

  I was starting to think that for once, God hadn’t been exaggerating. “Sure I do.”

  “If you did, you’d give me something for the pain.”

  “I gave you a pill this morning,” I reminded her.

  “It wasn’t enough.”

  I frowned. I’d given her the prescribed dosage. I got to my feet, retrieved the bottle of medication and studied the label. I’d definitely given her the right amount.

  Patrick had been the one to take her to a vet after she’d cut her feet on the glass from the window broken by Bob, but there was no identifying information on the label, so I didn’t know who to call about her condition.

  “If you cared about me at all,” the cat whined, “you’d give me some.”

  “Not this again,” the lizard moaned. “Earlier she was trying to convince the grammatically-challenged canine to break the bottle open for her.”

  “It hurts,” Pissed mewled pitifully.

  Worried that she was suffering, I grabbed another can of cat food so that I could give her more of the pain reliever.

  “No food,” she said.

  Turning, I saw that she’d stuck her head out from beneath the couch. Her one good eye watched me warily.

  “You should eat something.” Ignoring her request, I opened the can of food and buried the pill deep in the stinky, gooey mess. “It’s not good for you to take it on an empty stomach. We wouldn’t want you to develop another problem on top of everything else.”

  “No, we wouldn’t,” God confirmed. “Especially the ‘we’ who has to listen to her incessant yowling.”

  “I could eat him instead,” Piss suggested, pulling herself out from beneath the sofa and moving toward the terrarium.

  “Help!” God squeaked nervously. “The hunter’s after me.”

  Usually, I didn’t think the cat was dangerous to the lizard, but I hadn’t heard any teasing in her tone and her mind was addled by drugs.

  “Quit i
t you two.” Moving quickly, I stepped in between them and placed the can in front of the cat.

  Her nose twitched, her whiskers vibrating. “It’s fish.”

  “You wanted fish this morning.”

  “Well I don’t want it now.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers,” I replied testily, turning away to pick up the terrarium.

  “What are you doing?” God asked, panic straining his voice.

  “Moving you to somewhere safer,” I whispered. I carried him into the bathroom and balanced the glass enclosure on the back of the toilet. “I’ll close the door so she can’t get in here.”

  “So you believe me?”

  “I think that drugs make people... everyone,” I amended realizing a cat wasn’t a person, “act out of character.”

  “Thank you,” God said seriously. “I’m touched that you take my safety so seriously.”

  I grinned at the little guy.

  “How’s your boyfriend?” he asked.

  “Patrick’s improving, but he wants me to do something for him.”

  “What?”

  “He wants me to figure out who poisoned him.”

  “I’ve seen enough true crime shows to know that poisoning is almost always a significant other.”

  Even if Griswald hadn’t said the same thing, I would have believed God since, along with Wheel of Fortune, he spends endless hours watching real life murder mysteries on TV.

  “So chances are it’s probably the wife,” he opined.

  “That’s one of the opinions floating around,” I agreed. “Problem is I have no idea where to start my search.”

  “Find the woman and follow her,” God suggested.

  A series of sharp knocks against the basement door interrupted our conversation.

  “Maggie, you down there?” my sister Marlene yelled.

  I considered pretending that I wasn’t, but the fact that she’d knocked instead of bursting in indicated that whatever she wanted was probably important. “Come on down,” I yelled, before whispering to God, “I’ll check on you later.”

  Pulling the door shut behind me, I looked over at Marlene as she walked down the stairs. My younger sister was dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt. With her hair pulled back in a girlish ponytail, she looked almost wholesome, which was ironic considering that she used to make her living as a hooker.