The Hitwoman and the Family Jewels (Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman)

by Lynn, JB

  "She's acting like a spoiled brat," Blanche opined.

  "I think I made a mistake allowing you in here," Marshal Weller muttered. "Please step out of the room."

  I glanced up, surprised that he was offering me a reprieve.

  Blanche glared at me. "If you cared about your aunt--"

  "Out!" Weller barked. "Unless you want to be charged with interfering in an investigation."

  "What investigation?" Leslie asked as the marshal escorted her sponsor from the room.

  I stared at her. Sometimes she still acted as though she were permanently stoned. "There's a man with a gun outside the room. Didn't you wonder why?"

  She shrugged. "He asked me my name and then ushered me inside."

  I looked back down at the floor. This time I counted to twenty.

  Chapter Eight

  "Ma'am," Patrick said, saving me from having to offer the explanation. "There was a prison break earlier today. Archie Lee was one of the prisoners who escaped."

  "Oh," Leslie said. "My sister will be happy to hear that."

  "Why's that?" Marshal Weller asked, reentering the room.

  "Because every time Archie Lee gets the chance to mess up my mother’s life he takes it," I groused.

  Leslie shook her head. "No. You don't understand. Those two, my sister and Archie, they're soulmates. Nothing can keep them apart. Not time. Not distance. Not circumstance."

  "Not prison walls," I joined in mockingly. "Not manhunts."

  "We get the idea," Patrick interrupted.

  "I hate to see you so bitter," Leslie murmured. "You'll find love someday."

  It took every ounce of self-control I possessed to not look in Patrick's direction. I had nothing left to keep myself from saying, "Like you did?"

  "I had a true love," Leslie confessed dreamily.

  Patrick, fiddling with his cell phone, stepped out of the room.

  I stared at her incredulously. Her twin, Loretta, the sister who'd been married a zillion times, was the one who usually spouted nonsense about true love. "You did?"

  She nodded. "Despite what you think, Maggie, you don't know everything about your family."

  I was inordinately glad she was calling me Maggie again. It meant she was no longer furious with me. No one, except Aunt Susan, called me Margaret unless they were mad at me. I'd have felt even better if Patrick was in the room. His absence made me feel unmoored. I leaned against Katie's bed needing the support.

  "So you think Archie Lee will go find his wife?" Weller asked.

  I gave him a hard look. "Are you telling me you're not having her watched? That you don't have someone stationed outside of her room too?"

  He had the good sense to look away. "It's not my investigation."

  "I'm sure Griswald has her covered, but it wouldn't be a bad idea to check," Patrick suggested helpfully, stepping back into the room.

  Nodding, the marshal stepped into the hallway, pulling out his cell phone.

  I nodded my thanks to Patrick, certain that he knew that I wasn't worried about my father reaching my mother, but I was concerned that Kowalski could go after her.

  "What happened to your face?" Leslie asked suddenly. "And why is there blood on that shirt?"

  I bit my tongue to keep from saying, "Can't get anything past you."

  Patrick, taking my silence for an unwillingness to answer, filled in the blanks. "She was attacked by Paul Kowalski."

  Leslie cocked her head to the side. "Surely not.”

  “He did.” I stared at her, willing her to believe me.

  “But he’s such a nice young man,” she said, unable to wrap her head around the idea.

  "Psychopaths can be charming," Patrick muttered darkly.

  Leslie raised her eyebrows at him before turning her attention to me. "Is that true?"

  "That psychopaths can be charming?" I asked. "I guess so. I mean look at Ted Bundy."

  Leslie shook her head. "But why would Paul attack you?”

  "Probably because I deserved it," I drawled sarcastically, angry that it had taken her so long to notice I was hurt and she still hadn't asked if I was okay.

  Leslie stiffened. "That wasn't what I was saying."

  "Are you sure?" I asked. "Maybe you need to go ask Loretta's clone what you should be saying."

  "Who?" Leslie's confusion would have been comical if I hadn't been so pissed.

  "Blanche. She's like a younger version of your twin," I spat out. "She's a sexpot who's telling you what to think, what to say, how to act."

  Leslie shook her head in denial, but I could tell she was considering what I'd said.

  "You need a new sponsor, Aunt Leslie. That one," I jerked my chin in the direction of the hall, "is not good for you."

  Weller walked back through the door. "There's a marshal on your mother."

  "I hope he's not too heavy," I quipped.

  Patrick chuckled softly.

  Weller frowned at him. “Griswald said you'd probably have a picture of this dirty cop I'm supposed to keep an eye out for."

  Patrick held out his cell phone for the other man to examine. "He's bad news. Shoot first, ask questions later."

  Weller eyed him suspiciously. "So much for the boys in blue looking out for one another."

  Patrick stared at him impassively.

  After a long moment Weller said, "My orders are to stay with the little girl."

  Patrick swung his gaze to me. "Marshal Griswald has requested I bring you back to the B&B, Miss Lee. He has some questions for you."

  I nodded, appreciating how he managed to come across as solely professional. It gave me a glimpse of how he juggled all his different lives.

  Turning to Leslie, he said politely. "Do you need a ride home, ma'am?"

  She shook her head. "I'll stay here."

  Looking down at Katie sleeping peacefully, I said softly. "I think you should go home. Aunt Susan was very upset and I'm sure Loretta will be too once she finds out Templeton was almost killed."

  "How?" Leslie asked.

  "Kowalski," Patrick supplied. "You're all being placed under protective custody until he's caught. Marshal Weller will stay here with the girl. There's a team watching over your mother. More officers are at the B&B. That should keep everyone connected to you safe."

  While it sounded as though he was reporting what was going on to Leslie, I knew he was doing his best to reassure me.

  I nodded my understanding. "We should go back," I told Leslie. "Let’s go.”

  Afraid I’d lose my resolve to leave Katie, I barreled past them all and into the hallway.

  I promptly slammed into Delveccio's hired muscle, Vinnie. No doubt he'd been lingering outside the door, eavesdropping for his boss.

  "Hey!" he shouted. To his credit, he didn't let me fall on my ass in the hospital corridor. Grabbing my arm in a vise-like grip, he held me up like a dangling, raggedy doll.

  I shoved at his muscle-bound chest. “Hey, yourself.”

  Vinnie looked to his boss, who was lounging in the doorway of the room next to Katie’s, to see what to do about me. Patrick and Weller reached for their weapons.

  “Let me go or you’re going to get yourself shot,” I whispered to Vinnie. Raising my voice, I said loudly enough for everyone in the hall to hear, “Sorry about that. My fault. Thanks for catching me.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I caught Delveccio’s imperceptible nod.

  I patted Vinnie’s shoulder. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

  He sneered, making it clear I didn’t have a chance in hell of doing him any damage. He dropped my arm and I pretended to wobble unsteadily for a second. I stole a quick glance at Delveccio’s expression as I pretended to regain my balance.

  He didn’t look happy.

  I had to think fast. It was bad enough I had a rogue cop gunning for me and that the US Marshals were tracking my escapee father. I couldn’t afford to have the reputed head of a crime family pissed at me too. My life was already too dangerous without throwing a ho
micidal mob boss into the mix.

  “Look,” I continued in my overly loud voice as I looked at Katie’s room. “I told you, Marshal Weller, I don’t know where my father is. And I told you, Detective Whatever-The-Hell-Your-Name-Is, Paul Kowalski attacked me. I’m the victim here.”

  Patrick played along beautifully. “I understand, but there are still official questions you have to answer.” Ignoring Delveccio, he marched toward me. “You’ll have to come with me.”

  Turning away, I caught Delveccio’s eye. He nodded his approval before slipping back into his grandson’s room.

  Patrick and I hurried through the hallways, back toward the pick-up, Aunt Leslie following on our heels, ignoring the calls of Blanche who was shouting after her.

  “You need to calm down,” Patrick whispered through gritted teeth. “If you lose it, all of this could blow up in our faces.”

  I shot him a sideways glance. “Don’t worry. If it goes badly I’ll take all the blame.”

  He frowned at me. “That’s what I’m afraid of. We should go back to the B&B before Griswald gets suspicious.”

  “I have to get to God,” I insisted as we stepped outside.

  “You are talking about the lizard, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m starting to think you’re way too attached to that thing.” Yanking open the passenger door to the pick-up, Patrick offered me a hand up.

  I took it and he half-lifted me onto the seat.

  “You’re freezing,” he murmured.

  “I’ll live.”

  “For now.”

  I wondered if his “for now” was a warning about Paul coming after me to finish what he’d started or if he was worried Delveccio might sic Vinnie on me if I messed this up any more.

  I had to push the thoughts aside and shove my butt to the center of the truck cab, so that there was room for Aunt Leslie in the passenger seat.

  “We’ll go to check on the dog,” Patrick announced climbing into the driver’s seat and cranking the truck’s heater to max. “Then we’re going to get this mess sorted out.”

  He spoke with conviction, but I had my doubts. Sandwiched between my nervously twittering aunt and my determined murder mentor, I had a sinking feeling that things were going to get messier.

  Chapter Nine

  Returning to the vet’s parking lot, Patrick pulled to a stop between the lines of a parking spot.

  Leslie eyed the place in horror. “I can’t go in there.”

  Patrick hopped out of the pick-up.

  “Okay.” I patted my aunt’s hand sympathetically, thinking she might be squeamish about DeeDee’s blood. “You can stay in the truck.”

  “There are drugs in there,” she whispered.

  Doing my best to not roll my eyes, I muttered, “So wait here.”

  Awkwardly I slid over the seat and climbed out the driver’s door with a little assistance from Patrick, who took my hand and helped me down as though I was a fairy princess alighting from a magic carriage.

  “You could wait out here too,” he murmured in my ear, his breath warm against my skin.

  I shook my head, a lump rising in my throat. Doomsday had gotten hurt protecting me. It was my responsibility to check in on her. But I couldn’t tell Patrick any of that because I was pretty sure I’d burst into tears if I tried to speak and I had to be strong now. The dog deserved that.

  Stepping around so that he could look directly at me, he studied my face. “Are you sure? You really don’t look good.”

  “I’m fine,” I insisted.

  He frowned, signaling he hadn’t appreciated the false note of cheerfulness I’d injected into my tone, but he didn’t argue.

  We walked toward the building side-by-side.

  “After we check on her we’re going to have to go back to the B&B,” Patrick warned. “Griswald’s going to ask you a lot of questions.”

  “Like what?”

  “Hard to say. I’d imagine most of them will have to do with your father.”

  “But I don’t know anything. It’s not like he told me of his plans to escape,” I said.

  “Then just tell him the truth. It’s a lot easier to remember than a lie is.”

  I paused with my hand on the doorknob of the vet’s office. “And what am I supposed to do if they ask about us?”

  “Rule Number Four: Deny Everything.” He winked at me as though he wasn’t the slightest bit concerned we were about to be caught, covered my hand on the doorknob with his own, and pushed the door open.

  Dr. Felton’s assistant, Monica, the woman he’d been banging boots with, straightened a rack of brochures about fleas, heartworm, and a host of other pet maladies. Glancing over at us as we walked inside, she said, “I’ll let him know you’re here.” She quickly disappeared from the waiting room.

  Patrick’s cell phone buzzed. He glanced at the display and said, “It’s Griswald. I’ve got to take this.” He went back outside to answer the call, leaving me alone in the reception area.

  The one-eyed cat, keeping her body pressed against the wall, crept into the room. “You came back.”

  “Uh huh.” I sat down on a chair and patted the seat beside me, inviting her to join me.

  She narrowed her gaze suspiciously.

  “How’s DeeDee?” I asked.

  The cat leapt onto the chair next to mine. “Doc says she’s tougher than she looks.”

  I thought about how Doomsday had tangled with her previous owner Gary the Gun and then with psychopath Paul, both times to save me. “She’s a loyal friend,” I told the cat. “I can be too. Want to tell me your name now?”

  Ignoring me, the cat lifted a paw to her mouth and began licking it.

  I tried another tacttack. “Are you a patient or do you live here?”

  “I live here. I live there. I make my way in the world,” she said a tad haughtily.

  I nodded. “I used to dream about a life like that. I wanted that kind of freedom, but I was always too afraid to go for it.”

  “Why?” she asked curiously, her good ear twitching curiously.

  I shrugged. “It’s silly.”

  “Tell me,” she insisted.

  “It’s too embarrassing to tell a stranger,” I said, looking away.

  She kneaded my leg, her claws pricking lightly through my jeans. “I want to know.”

  I looked back at her, staring into her one eye. “I was afraid I’d be too lonely. I mean my family is crazy and all, but I couldn’t imagine my life without them.” Tears filled my eyes as I confided, “I don’t have much left.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, continuing her march in place against my thigh.

  “My sister Theresa died in a car accident earlier this year, my mom’s in a mental institution, my dad’s in prison, and my sister Marlene hasn’t spoken to me in years because she blames me for her twin, Darlene, being murdered.” I wiped away the tears that were now flowing freely down my face.

  My feline friend nuzzled her head into my arm, offering me comfort. “I’m so sorry, Sugar.”

  “I can’t lose DeeDee, I just can’t.”

  “You’re not going to. She’ll pull through.” The cat climbed into my lap, curled into a ball and began to purr.

  I stroked her silky coat. “You think so?”

  “Doc Felton is the best,” she assured me. “Not that I’d admit that in public.”

  We both looked over as Patrick came back inside.

  “How is she?” he asked.

  “Soft,” I answered.

  He frowned. “I meant the dog.”

  “I haven’t seen her yet, but I have a good feeling,” I told him.

  The cat purred her approval.

  Patrick settled into the seat the cat had vacated. “We can’t wait here long. I’ve got to get you back to Griswald.”

  “Is there something new about my dad?” I asked.

  “Nothing yet.”

  Doctor Felton strolled into the reception. He came to an abrupt s
top, a look of shock on his face.

  The cat’s comforting purring stopped.

  Fear lanced my heart and I trembled. “What is it?”

  “You’ve got piss on your lap!” he exclaimed.

  Certain I’d misheard him, I asked, “What?”

  “Piss,” the doctor insisted. “Piss is on your lap.”

  “He means me,” the cat explained.

  I looked down at her, then back at the vet. “You mean the cat?”

  He nodded. “We call her Miss Piss because she peed in the spare set of shoes I keep in the back.”

  “That’s a horrible name.” I looked down at the cat. “Tell me what your name is.”

  “It’s a cat,” Patrick reminded me. “It can’t talk.”

  The cat had the audacity to wink at me, at least that’s what I think she did with her one good eye, before jumping off my lap and stalking away. “I’m going to relieve myself in his shoes,” she purred naughtily.

  “I’ll take you to see your girl,” Doctor Felton offered.

  Patrick and I followed him into a different room than we’d been in earlier. She was in a large crate on the floor, lying on her side, eyes closed.

  I knelt down to stroke her snout through the bars. “Hey, DeeDee.”

  She stirred groggily.

  “Let her sleep,” God whispered.

  Squinting, I realized he’d tucked himself below her chin.

  “How’s she doing?” Patrick asked the vet.

  “It’s a good thing you got her here when you did. She would have bled to death without surgery, but now that she’s stitched up, I’m hoping she’ll make a full recovery.” The vet crouched beside me. “The lizard is yours?”

  I nodded.

  “Gotta say, I’ve seen some odd inter-species pairings in my practice, but I’ve never seen two buddies like them. He stuck by her the whole time.”

  I swallowed the lump that rose in my throat. “I’m not surprised.” As much as he groused about her grammar, God was fond of the grammatically-challenged beast.

  “She’ll have to stay here overnight,” Dr. Felton straightened and stepped away. “And probably tomorrow too, but we’ll keep a close eye on her and give her our best care.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured.