by JB Lynn
“Someone who?” I asked.
She blinked at me, surprised. “What do you mean?”
“The way you said someone makes me think there’s more to this than you’re telling.” I did my best Aunt Susan impression, giving her a stern look that I hoped would cow her into spilling the beans.
Spinning her engagement ring around and around, she confessed. “It’s Leo.”
“Who’s Leo?”
She looked down at her ring. “Ancient history… one of those mistakes we were talking about.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I sighed, not bothering to hide my disapproval.
“He...” she protested weakly. “He gave me the building, I swear. But I can’t find the paper, and without it, the lawyer said I can’t keep the building.”
“Here,” Armani said, shaking her purple cloth bag filled with Scrabble tiles at Loretta, offering her a reprieve. “Pick seven.”
Her hands trembling, Loretta reached for the bag.
“But remember what I said, I can’t be expected to just deliver up the answer you’re looking for.” She waited patiently while Loretta put all her letters down on the table.
Armani quickly put them in alphabetical order and read them aloud, “A B D G I N T.”
The three of us stared at the tiles for a long moment and then Armani and I simultaneously blurted out, “Dingbat.”
“Who are you calling a dingbat?” Aunt Susan asked, breezing into the dining room.
Armani, Loretta, and I exchanged a panicked look.
Crossing my fingers behind my back, I lied. “The dog.”
“The dog.” Susan rolled her eyes. “Did your niece tell you what she did today?” she asked Loretta.
Loretta shook her head.
“She attacked Bob.”
“I didn’t attack him,” I protested. “I thought I was protecting Katie.”
“She tackled him to the ground,” Susan told her sister, ignoring my explanation.
“Warrior Chiquita!” Armani crowed triumphantly.
Susan turned her coldest, most-quelling look on my semi-psychic friend.
Unperturbed and certainly not silenced, Armani told me, “I like this rebellious side of you.”
“Don’t encourage her,” Susan railed. “She’ll end up just like Mary.”
Loretta gasped.
I fell back as though I’d been sucker-punched.
Susan clapped a hand over her mouth as though that could stop the words that had just escaped.
Even Armani, sensing the ramped up tension, stayed silent.
“I didn’t mean—” Susan apologized hurriedly.
“I know what you meant,” I interrupted bitterly. Before she could say anything else, I stormed out of the dining room, fists clenched.
“Hey,” Marlene protested when I almost knocked her over.
Ignoring her, I made a beeline for the door.
“Are you okay?” Marlene chased after me. “What’s wrong?”
“Leave me alone,” I shouted, blowing through the door and into the cool night air. Not stopping there, I stalked out of the B&B and down the road.
I didn’t know where I was heading. All I knew was that I had to get away from Susan’s accusation that I was turning out like my mother. Like my crazy mother. The woman who’d spent more of my life in a mental institution than out of it.
I wasn’t crazy, I told myself, as I kept walking. Sure I’d attacked someone for no good reason, and I was a hitwoman in the employ of a mobster, and I talked to a lizard, but that didn’t make me crazy.
I don’t know how long I walked, repeating my litany of less-than-sane life choices and countering them with “that doesn’t mean I’m crazy” mutters.
What was crazy was that it was dark and cold and that I ended up at the door of Patrick Mulligan’s hideout apartment.
Chapter Eleven
My first knock on his door was timid. I waited a moment and then knocked harder, all the while wondering how the hell I was going to explain my arrival to him.
But he didn’t answer.
So I banged even harder, so hard it bruised my knuckles.
But he wasn’t there, or if he was, he wasn’t in the mood to invite me in.
I may have punched and kicked the door like a madwoman for about thirty seconds.
All of my righteous “I’m not crazy” anger whooshed out of me in one breath, leaving me empty and dejected. Suddenly exhausted, I leaned my forehead against the door as I fought back the urge to sob pathetically.
Resting my hand on the cool metal doorknob, I tried to figure out what to do next.
As I saw it, I had three options: One, I could go home and endure the pity of my aunts and the scorn of my lizard. Two, I could walk the darkened streets, searching for DeeDee. Three, I could just stay where I was with the hope that Patrick would return and magically make everything better.
I was really tempted to go with option three. After all, I’d had a long day and was tired.
“You okay, Sugar?”
The Southern-twinged purr was delivered softly, but it still made me jump. Backing away from the door, I searched the shadows for Piss.
She sat a few feet away, staring at me intently with her one good eye.
“What are you doing here?”
Slinking over to me, she wound herself through my legs. “You were madder than a fire ant when you left. I was worried about you.”
Bending down, I scooped her up and cradled her against my chest. She was warm and solid and provided the anchor I needed desperately. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Life’s always a little better after a nap,” she suggested. “Let’s go home.”
“You know, that’s not my home,” I told her as I started to walk back toward the Bed and Breakfast. “My home blew up. My life blew up.”
“Home is where those who care about you are,” she admonished softly, her whiskers tickling my throat.
“That is the most dysfunctional excuse for a home,” I muttered.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” she soothed, kneading my chest with her claws.
I almost dropped her. “What did you say?”
“Beggars can’t be choosers.”
“Beggars. Begs her.” I picked up my pace.
“What’s going on?” Piss asked.
“Armani’s prediction was ‘begs her,’ but you just said ‘beggar.’ They sound a lot alike.”
“So?”
“I don’t know, but it’s got to mean something.”
“If you say so.” The cat, nestled in my arms, didn’t sound like she believed me, but she didn’t say another word as I carried her the rest of the way home.
By the time I got back, the witches, or as the rest of the world refers to them, my aunts, had gone to bed. I crept down to the basement hopefully, but DeeDee wasn’t there.
God was curled up in the corner of his new terrarium snoring. The sound echoed off the glass, filling the room.
“Nap, Sugar,” Piss said, jumping off the couch I’d put her down on and disappearing into a corner.
I thought I was too wound up to sleep, but I lay down on the bed anyway, knowing I’d spend the night wrestling with my wayward thoughts.
The next thing I knew, it was morning. I knew that because I could smell coffee and the back of my eyelids, which I refused to open, were pink from exposure to the morning sun.
“Wakey wakey,” God taunted.
Despite the hour, I was too tired to be awake. Keeping my eyes squeezed shut, I pulled the pillow out from behind my head and threw it in the general direction of his voice.
“Ah, you’re up.”
The nearby male voice startled me so much that I sat straight up and stared at the source.
“What? What are you doing here?” I spluttered.
Instead of answering, Templeton, Aunt Loretta’s fiancé, held out a tray laden with coffee and fresh-baked muffins.
I took a pre-poured cup of brew and snatched up
a serving of sweetened carbs. “What are you doing?” I asked again.
“I thought you might want to avoid Susan,” he said, calmly placing the tray on the nearest table.
“Have you ever heard of knocking?”
“I did.”
“He did,” God confirmed. “You were sleeping the sleep of the dead.”
“Oh.” I sipped the coffee before raising the mug in a toast. “Thanks for this.”
“You’re welcome.” Standing, Templeton began to nervously pace the length of the room.
I knew he had something to say, but I was enjoying my java and blueberry crumb too much to ask what was on his mind.
“I’m worried about her,” he finally blurted out, halting in his tracks.
“Susan?” I asked.
“Loretta. She’s under a lot of stress.”
“Because she can’t find that deed?”
He nodded. “If she loses her business…”
“You’ll lose your meal ticket?” I suggested before taking another bite of muffin.
There was no mistaking the pain in the man’s eyes.
The immediate guilt I felt for saying something so awful to someone who’d never been anything but kind to me made the food in my mouth turn to chalk. I tried to swallow, but couldn’t.
“She is not my meal ticket.” Outrage made his voice strident.
Spitting the muffin into a napkin, I tried to apologize. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”
“I have my own income,” he assured me icily.
“From where?” I hadn’t known him to work a single day for the entire time I’d known him.
“That’s neither here nor there. I wanted to talk to you about your aunt.”
“What about her?”
“I told you, I’m worried.”
His concern seemed genuine, so I nodded sympathetically.
“You’re not?”
“Not what?”
“Worried about her?”
“Of course I am,” I countered automatically. But the truth was, I really hadn’t been. I was worried about where DeeDee had disappeared to, how I was going to find Ghost, when I was going to whack this guy, Ira Frankel, and whether or not I was crazy. Honestly, Loretta’s problems were pretty low on my list of things to worry about.
Templeton stood there, staring at me like he expected me to pull a solution to Loretta’s problem out of thin air.
“What?” I asked him.
“You’re the problem solver in this family,” he said. “Solve the problem.”
I drained the remainder of my coffee while I considered his statement. My knee-jerk reaction was that he was crazier than my mom, but when I thought about it for a second, I realized he was right. Somehow I’d become the person everyone turned to when they needed help. Aunt Susan and Marlene needed help with each other, Aunt Leslie needed help with her sobriety, and Aunt Loretta needed help holding onto The Corset Closet. I needed more time if I wanted to be able to help everyone.
“When did that happen?” I muttered aloud.
“When did what happen?” Templeton asked.
“When did I become the responsible one?”
He shrugged. “Will you help her?”
I nodded slowly. “I’ll do what I can.”
To indicate his appreciation, he took my empty coffee mug and refilled it. I could see some of the charm Loretta saw in him.
Leaving the tray with muffins beside me, he said his thanks and skittered up the stairs, making his escape before I could change my mind.
“I’m the responsible one,” I said out loud, trying to make sense of the words. Pride swelled in my chest.
“Yes, yes,” God interjected, effectively bursting my bubble. “So responsible you lost the slobbering beast.”
“Can it, Mr. Sunshine,” Piss ordered, jumping off my lap and stalking toward the glass enclosure.
“Save me!” God shouted, panicked.
“Both of you, cut it out.” Rising, I inhaled half the mug of caffeine. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
One of the best things about staying in the basement of the B&B is the shower. It’s not fancy, or large, but it is close to the hot water heater which means you don’t have to wait ten minutes for the steaming stuff to snake through the pipes like you do when you’re in a second or third floor bedroom. It’s pretty much instant on.
Soon I was reveling in the water beating my skin a lovely shade of pink. For some reason, either because I was still thinking about how I was going to off Ira or because I was puzzling over Armani’s prediction, I started humming “Ice, Ice Baby”. I always think about that song when I think about Armani since the song was a prediction she failed to heed… hence her tragic run-in with a Zamboni.
I wordlessly crooned the melody while I rinsed shampoo suds out of my hair.
God shouted something from the other room, but I couldn’t make out what he said, but had no doubt he was mocking my choice of tunes. I took a great deal of pleasure in humming even louder, knowing that it was driving the lizard crazy.
Hopping out of the shower, I wrapped a towel around myself.
I threw open the door so that I could dance into the room and belt out the chorus.
The word died on my lips as I realized it wasn’t just the lizard and cat listening to me. A pair of human eyes watched my antics too. I froze in place.
Green eyes sparkled with amusement.
The hot water might have turned my skin pink, but the embarrassed flush that heated my skin no doubt turned me lobster red.
“Don’t let me stop you, Mags.”
Instead of responding, I spun on my heel and dashed back into the bathroom, slamming the door.
Patrick’s chuckle drifted through the door.
“What are you doing here?” Wiping away the condensation on the fogged mirror, I scowled at my drowned rat reflection.
“I was worried about you.” He spoke quietly and I realized he’d moved so that he was standing on the other side of the door.
Sidling up to it I asked, “Why?”
“I saw you at my place last night.”
A painful lump lodged in my throat as the idea that he’d deserted me in my time of need sunk in.
“Mags?”
“You knew I was there and you didn’t let me in?” I asked, not bothering to hide the betrayal that made my voice squeak.
“Of course not,” he sounded offended. “Open the door.”
“Why should I? You didn’t open the door for me.”
“I wasn’t there.”
“But you said…”
“I saw you on the security recording.”
He hadn’t abandoned me. Relief flooded through me. “You have security?”
“Will you please open this thing?” Patrick cajoled. “I came to talk to you, not a door.”
“Hang on a sec.” Even though the mirror had fogged over again, I ran a hand over my hair to smooth it and made sure my towel covered the important bits before opening the door.
Leaning against the frame, he smiled down at me. “Much better.”
He slowly ran his gaze up and down appreciatively. When he finally focused on my face, his eyes glittered with desire.
I shivered, not because I was cold, but because his blatant perusal had me flushing with a heat more intense than my earlier blush.
“Cold?” he asked, stepping into the bathroom, causing me to back up until the back of my legs hit the cool porcelain of the toilet. “We shouldn’t let the heat out.” He pulled the door shut, locking the two of us in the enclosed space.
I waited for him to make his move, but he just stood there with inches of space separating us.
The temperature ratcheted up exponentially, but it had nothing to do with steam.
“So you were looking for me?” he prompted softly.
I nodded dumbly.
“Why?”
“I—” I trailed off trying to recall what I’d been thinking the night before. I couldn’
t remember. All I could think about was how close he was and how I was half-naked and how I wished he was too.
I shook my head, trying to dislodge the lusty thoughts filling my head so I could focus on the conversation. My wet hair whipped my face and a strand stuck to my cheek.
Slowly he raised his hand to pluck it away. His fingers against my cheek were cool.
Before he could drop his hand back to his side, I caught it and pressed a kiss to his palm. Keeping my mouth against his skin, I looked up at him as I nibbled my way to the sensitive flesh at the inside of wrist.
His gaze sharpened as he watched me.
Dropping his hand, I stood on tiptoe to press my lips against his. His mouth was cool to the touch, but his guttural groan melted my core.
With an answering moan, I kissed him with no thoughts about the space, or the heat, or the damp towel. All I knew was that I couldn’t get close enough.
Pulling me tight against him, his hand, splayed across my back, burned through the towel, branding me, and I reveled in his ownership.
I was breathless when he yanked his mouth away from mine and muttered in my ear. “I promised myself this wouldn’t happen.”
“What wouldn’t?” I panted, looping my arms around his neck, loving how strong and solid he felt in my arms.
“This.” He pressed a long slow kiss to my throat, making my knees buckle in the process. “I promised myself I wouldn’t get distracted by this and then you come out in that towel, all wet and pink and luscious, and I had to have you.”
“Luscious?” No one had ever called remarkably unremarkable me “luscious” before.
“Good enough to eat,” he murmured, nipping at my earlobe to illustrate his point.
“But that’s not why I’m here.”
“Why are you here?” I slipped both hands into the waistband of his jeans, causing him to gasp.
He grabbed my hands before I could move them lower.
“Because last night you were acting crazy.”
Dumping me into a vat of ice water would have been less effective in cooling my ardor. I’d done my best to control myself when it had been inferred that I was crazy a number of times in the past few days, but hearing it from him of all people pushed me over the edge.