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

by JB Lynn

  Once their voices faded, Patrick whispered, “We should go inside.”

  “No,” I countered, remembering how I’d reacted to his earlier flirtation.

  “Why not?”

  “The cat’s sleeping. Which reminds me, what vet did you take her to? She’s been a terror to live with. I think she’s a drug addict.”

  “You think your cat’s a drug addict?” There was no mistaking the disbelief in the redhead’s voice.

  “Jonesing,” DeeDee panted in agreement, but of course he didn’t know that.

  “The vet’s name.” I stamped my foot impatiently.

  “What’s wrong?” Patrick stood up, brushing invisible dirt off his clothes.

  “You gave me a heart attack, you won’t reveal the vet’s name, and you won’t tell me what you know about Darlene. You leave me a cryptic note and then I don’t hear from you again.”

  “McGonigill. And I almost died.”

  “Who the hell is McGonigill?” I snapped.

  “The vet,” he replied gently.

  “Oh.”

  “And I almost died. That’s why I didn’t tell you about Darlene.”

  As excuses go, it was a good one, but I was still hurt and bewildered about his relationship with his wife, so I said, “Well you’re past that, so tell me now.”

  He let out a low whistle. “Wow.”

  “Wow?”

  “That’s kind of cold, don’t you think?”

  I shrugged. “That’s me. One cold-hearted bitch.”

  “Are you?” There was a dangerous challenge in his voice.

  “Yes,” I squeaked unconvincingly.

  “Oh, Mags,” he muttered.

  Then he was kissing me. Deeply, passionately. His mouth claimed mastery over mine. Stealing my ability to breathe. Stealing my ability to think. Stealing my ability to stand.

  Plundering my mouth without mercy, he dragged me against him. His hands everywhere. His body hard hot against mine. So hot it burned through our clothing and incinerated our common sense.

  “Caught get don’t.”

  DeeDee’s low warning growl cut through the sensual haze that I was lost in, grounding me in reality.

  I was making out with Patrick in the backyard of the B&B. I was ready to make love with a man who’d misled me and had proved multiple times that he was unable or unwilling to commit to taking our relationship to the next level.

  I tore my mouth away from his, sucking in a great gulp of air. I needed to put some distance between us. I needed time to think.

  When he moved to reclaim it, I turned my head. “Do you hear that?”

  He froze.

  Wrapped in each other’s arms we listened.

  Voices floated to us on the night air.

  I recognized Marlene’s voice and guessed that since she was laughing, she must be with her date, Doc.

  Patrick made sure I was steady on my feet and then stepped away from me.

  Knowing that he couldn’t follow me with Marlene and Doc in the driveway, I twisted free from Patrick and made a beeline for my car.

  “Mags!” he hissed, not daring to raise his voice, but I ignored him.

  “Come, DeeDee,” I ordered.

  Thankfully the mutt obeyed me for once and raced ahead of me to the car, startling my sister and her date.

  “Sorry,” I muttered, taking in Marlene’s wide eyes and Doc’s protective stance as I threw open the car’s back door for the dog and then slammed it shut. “Have to run a quick errand.”

  “Do you need help?’ Doc asked.

  “Of course not,” I lied smoothly, jumping into the driver’s seat. I gunned the motor and left tire marks in the driveway as I flew out of there, determined to beat Patrick home.

  “God out no Patrick first?” DeeDee asked.

  Despite her lack of grammar, she had a distinct grasp of the problem.

  “That’s right,” I told her. “As long as we get there first, we’ve got a chance of getting God out. Otherwise we can’t risk having him spot you.”

  “Out God come!” the dog barked loudly. “Out God now come!”

  The noise reverberated in the tiny interior of the car, making my ears ring.

  “Quiet!” I shouted almost as loudly.

  The dog fell silent.

  “What the heck were you barking for?” I asked in a normal tone.

  “Practicing?” she whined softly. “Mad Maggie?”

  “I’m not mad.” I reached back to pat her cheek. Doing so caused me to steer badly, which resulted in our driving over a curb.

  The dog, not wearing a seatbelt, stumbled to the opposite of the car as the vehicle tilted.

  “Whoa,” she panted.

  “Sorry.” I grabbed the wheel at ten and two.

  “Fun!”

  “Fun?” I asked.

  “Again it do,” the mutt pleaded. “Bump. Bump.”

  “I’m not doing it again.”

  Disappointed, she lay down on the seat to sulk.

  A few minutes later, having parked in the same spot we’d used earlier to drop off God and Piss, she barely waited until I’d opened the door, before bounding out and racing toward Patrick’s house.

  I got back behind the wheel and waited.

  And waited.

  I knew that every time the number on my dashboard clock changed, we were that much closer to Patrick catching us.

  “Stupid plan,” I muttered to myself, glancing in the rearview mirror, hoping to spot the dog. “Did you really think Operation Poisoned Apple would work?”

  I squeezed the steering wheel, more to anchor what was left of what passed for my sanity than to relieve my stress.

  I squeezed and then forced myself to exhale. Squeeze and breathe.

  Finally I saw the dog loping toward the car, tongue hanging out of her mouth. My heart dropped when I didn’t spot God. Heart heavy, legs slow, I got out of the car to open the door for her. Instead of hopping in, the dog skidded to a stop at my feet.

  That’s when I saw him. The little guy had a death grip on her collar.

  “You made it!” My overwhelming relief made my voice thin and reedy.

  “Of course I did,” he sneered superiorly as he stepped onto my outstretched palm. “Despite the less-than-subtle extraction method.”

  “Are welcome you,” DeeDee told her, jumping into the car.

  I got behind the wheel and placed the little guy on the dashboard. “I’m glad you’re okay.” I started the car.

  “Not only that, but my plan worked. I solved the mystery.”

  “You know who poisoned Patrick?”

  “I know who did their best to poison him tonight. I’m assuming that it’s the same person.”

  “Tonight?”

  I remembered how hot he’d felt as he kissed me, the way his mouth had practically burned mine. Had I left him to die in the backyard of the B&B?

  I fumbled for my phone, dropped it between my feet, and hit my head on the bottom of the steering wheel with a resounding thunk as I tried to retrieve it.

  “Ow!” I reached for it again, fumbling for what felt like eternity, my seatbelt threatening to cut off my air supply permanently.

  “As much as I’m enjoying this odd game of Hot Potato you’re playing with yourself,” God said in a voice laced with a thousand insults, “do you mind me asking what you think you’re doing?”

  My fingers closed around the phone and I raised it overhead victoriously. “Got it!” I was breathless from having been bent over with the seatbelt cutting into my waist. “We’ve got to warn him.”

  “Who?”

  “Patrick.”

  Annoyed, the lizard puffed out the orange dewlap at the base of his throat. “Warn him about what?”

  “He was poisoned. You just said so.”

  “No. I said the poisoner tried their best. But I saved the day.” He stuck out his chest like he thought he was some sort of reptilian version of Superman.

  “You?” the dog piped up incredulously.<
br />
  “Brains over brawn, beast,” the lizard snapped.

  DeeDee bared her teeth, a growl rumbling from the depths of her chest.

  “How?” I asked trying to gently diffuse the tension.

  “Liquid. Poured it right in his bottle of beer.”

  “I meant, how did you save him?” I prompted.

  “I spilled the beer.”

  “Brawn,” DeeDee accused.

  “She has a point,” I inserted before God could argue. “So was it his wife?”

  “No.”

  Patrick’s faith in her innocence had been well-placed. I didn’t find comfort in that. Remembering what Griswald had said about poisoning being the work of a significant other or family member, a terrible suspicion filled me. “Please tell me it wasn’t his son.”

  “Patricide?” God asked. “No.”

  “Who?” DeeDee parked.

  “First let me tell you about my investigation. Getting into the house itself was even more treacherous than I’d imagined.”

  I could tell he was about to launch into a long and dramatic storytelling, but I was still worried I’d left my almost lover to die in the dirt so I interrupted, “You’re sure Patrick is okay?”

  “He’s fine. An idiot. But besides that, he’s fine.” He flicked his tail with annoyance. “I, on the other hand, am exhausted from my ordeal and would like to sleep in my own bed.”

  “Okay,” I agreed.

  “That means drive, biped.”

  Slipping the car into gear, I drove while he spun a tale that I’m fairly certain he took a fair amount of poetic license with. Finally, as we pulled into the driveway, he got to the part where he would dramatically unmask the would-be murderer.

  He paused, waiting until I’d parked the car and gave him my full attention before making the reveal. Its impact was lessened somewhat by the rhythmic snoring coming from the back seat. The dog had been thoroughly unimpressed with his spy exploits and decided her time would be better sent napping. Not that I could blame her, hearing how he’d curled up in a corner, wrapping himself in a dust bunny as the perfect camouflage disguise in order to eavesdrop on Patrick, his wife, her lover, and her lover’s husband, wasn’t exactly riveting.

  “So who did it?” I asked the lizard.

  “I can’t believe you haven’t figured it out yet,” God mocked.

  “I wasn’t the one pawing through their personal possessions and spying on them.”

  “All to save a life,” he reminded me. “And I did. Without my intervention, the dog spoiler would be…” He flipped over, prone on his back and stuck his legs straight up in the air in his best imitation of death.

  “How do you know the person isn’t trying again as we speak?”

  “Out of poison. Once he used it up in Patrick’s beer, he hid the empty bottle in the wife’s pocketbook.” He flipped himself back upright and strolled along the dashboard. “Not bad as far as framing jobs go. Have you figured it out yet?”

  He waited expectantly.

  “Molly’s husband?” I guessed.

  “Excellent!” He waved his tail in celebration and damned me with faint praise. “There’s hope for you yet. You continue to surprise me.”

  “There were only two other people in the house,” I said dryly. “And you used the pronoun ‘he.’”

  “But you put the puzzle pieces together. Give yourself credit,” the lizard urged.

  “How the hell am I supposed to warn Patrick who’s trying to kill him?”

  “That,” he said smugly, “is not my problem. I did my job.”

  I took the dog and lizard back to the B&B hoping I’d find Patrick waiting there, but he wasn’t.

  Deciding my best chance to warn him would probably be first thing in the morning, I drove back to his house, parking just a few doors down and settled in for the night, like some poor, lovelorn stalker.

  I’d bribed the cat to come along for company, by giving her the nighttime dose of painkillers early. I’d become a pill pusher.

  The cat napped on the seat beside me, whiskers twitching the whole time.

  I spent a good hour telling myself how pathetic I was for trying to find out who was framing Patrick’s wife. I’d worked myself into a state of self-loathing and had convinced myself that anyone with an iota of self-respect would drive back to the B&B and sleep in her own bed when I saw him.

  At first I thought I’d dozed off and was dreaming when I saw the figure slip through the shadows toward the Mulligan house. I slapped my cheeks, blinked rapidly and leaned forward to make sure I saw what I thought I did.

  I shook the cat awake. “Hey, do you seem him?”

  Claws outstretched, she swiped at my hand, leaving a burning scratch across my wrist.

  “Ow!”

  “Don’t shake me,” the cat ordered, narrowing her one good eye at me.

  “Sorry, but I need you to tell me if you see something.”

  I reached to pick her up.

  She flexed her claws, warning me off.

  I glanced over at the man who was circling Patrick’s car. “Please? It’s important.”

  “Fine,” she acquiesced.

  I picked up the drugged cat so that she could peer over the dashboard and tell me whether or not I was seeing things. That’s how crazy my life is.

  “What about him?” Piss asked.

  “You can see him?”

  “What kind of drugs are you on, sugar? Of course I can see him. I’m only half blind.”

  Light glinted off whatever metal tool the man carried, but it was too dark to make out his face.

  Holding the cat against my shoulder, I watched in horror as he dropped to the ground and slid his torso under Patrick’s car.

  Now I’m not a mechanic, but even I knew that he was probably cutting the brakelines… or worse.

  He made quick handiwork of his task and was back on his feet within a minute, slinking away into the night.

  “This is not good,” I muttered.

  “No,” Piss agreed. “It sure isn’t.”

  “I’ve got to warn Patrick.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know.” I gingerly placed the cat back on her seat.

  I stared at Patrick’s car worriedly. What if I fell asleep and missed Patrick getting in the car to go for a ride? Or what if his wife or son got in the car?

  “There must be some way to get his attention,” I murmured.

  “Smash the window,” Piss suggested.

  “The drugs have messed with your thinking,” I replied.

  “No. If you smash the window, he’ll come outside to investigate and you can warn him.”

  It wasn’t the best of plans, but it was the only one we had, so I decided to go for it. “Okay. “ I reached for the door handle.

  “Wait!” Piss ordered. “Write it down.”

  “Write what down?”

  “Brakes tampered with. Write it down. Give it me. Smash the window. Run like the Hounds of Hell are hot on your tail. He’ll recognize me and I’ll give him the note.”

  “How?’

  “I’ll trip him if need be.”

  “No, how will you hand him the note. You don’t have hands.”

  “I’ll carry it in my mouth. It may end up with some puncture holes, but he’ll get the message.”

  So I scribbled the note on the back of a greasy fast food receipt, parked a couple of blocks away, and crept up to the Mulligan house carrying a bossy cat and a tire iron.

  I put her down at the bottom of the driveway. Sidling up to the car, I raised the tire iron overhead.

  “Hit the door first,” Piss suggested. “If a rolling shopping cart can set off a car alarm, a good whack should do it.”

  I changed the angle of my attack and took a deep breath. Patrick would definitely not be happy. I was about to damage his property and violate the Don’t Get Caught rule.

  “And don’t drop the tire iron,” Piss advised. “You don’t want to leave prints.”

 
Every muscle tensed as I swung the piece of metal at the car door. It connected with a resounding thunk and a corresponding shockwave of pain traveled up my arm. The unexpected sensation hurt so much, I dropped the tire iron at the instant the car alarm began to blare and car lights flashed.

  “Prints! Prints!” the cat yowled, adding to the din. “Pick it up.”

  I scrambled to pick up the tool, which now felt even heavier. I was raising it overhead to smash the window when a spotlight mounted to the front of the Mulligan house, suddenly bathed the area in blinding light.

  “Run!” the cat urged.

  I didn’t need to be told twice. Tightening my grip on the tire iron, I raced away into the darkness without looking back.

  Twenty minutes later, limping badly, Piss rejoined me at my car.

  “It’s done,” she said before falling into a deep sleep.

  Sleep eluded me that night.

  ~#~

  The next day, I slipped Delveccio’s gift-wrapped package into my pocket, and headed into Insuring the Future.

  Before I even sat down, I went to Harry’s office and knocked on the frame of the open door. He was finishing up a call, but waved me inside, indicating I should take a chair.

  I sat and waited while he finished the conversation, noticing that he’d added new pictures. One was another wedding shot and the other was of the two of them overlooking the Grand Canyon. He looked happy in the pictures, but looked stressed behind the desk.

  “Morning, Maggie.” He hung up the phone.

  “Morning.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I was wondering if it would be okay if I took a long lunch today. I have to visit my mother quickly and drop something off.” I smiled, hopeful that since I technically hadn’t lied, he’d go for it. “I’d get back about thirty minutes late. Is that okay?”

  He considered me for a long moment, and I knew he was going to turn down my request.

  “It would be better…” he began slowly.

  It was an effort to maintain my smile, but I hung onto it doggedly.

  “If you could leave early instead of coming back late,” he finished.

  That response was so unexpected that I blurted out, “What?”

  “We’ve got a meeting right before,” he explained. “If you leave before that, it won’t even register that you’re off the phones. Corporate will just think you were in the meeting.”