by J. B. Lynn
Her eyes widened at the sight of the pig, but she didn’t say anything.
“Templeton is making her breakfast,” I replied.
Susan nodded. “He’s actually quite good with children.”
I nodded.
“Have you heard from Darlene?” Susan asked, moving closer to me.
I shook my head. As far as I knew, no one had heard from my sister.
Susan crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot impatiently. “So? What are you going to do?”
I blinked in surprise. “You’re expecting me to go find Darlene?”
She shook her head. “What are you going to do about Katie?”
“We’re figuring everything out,” I told her.
“Well, you should do it quickly.”
“I’m doing my best,” I told her defensively. Darlene had just left town, leaving Katie behind and it caught me off guard. I hadn’t expected to be given back custody of Katie without any notice.
“You should get a real job,” Susan opined.
She, of course, didn’t know I did have a job, of sorts, killing people for money. I didn’t think she’d approve of that kind of employment, so I kept my mouth shut.
“Doing these odd jobs for Armani is not the responsible thing to do,” Susan continued.
I cocked my head to the side and wondered why, when she’d defended me to Darlene not long ago, she was now questioning my sense of responsibility. “Is something wrong?” I asked her.
She shook her head and began to walk away. I could tell by the tension in her shoulders that something was very wrong.
I raced to catch up with her, and Matilda trotted to catch up with me. Falling into step beside my aunt, I glanced over at her. Unshed tears glimmered in her eyes. Susan is not a crier. For the second time that day, panic filled me. I didn’t know what to do for her.
“Are you ill?” I asked. It was a suspicion I had been harboring for a while now.
Surprised, she looked up and shook her head. “No. One panic attack does not make for an invalid.”
“Then what is it?”
Susan stopped and looked in the other direction, as though she couldn’t stand to make eye contact with me. “It’s Lawrence.”
“He’s sick?” I gasped.
Granted, having a U.S. Marshal as family made things tricky for me, but I was quite fond of the man that Susan had chosen to marry.
Susan shook her head. “He’s unhappy.”
I’m not an expert on relationships, but even I knew newlyweds should not be unhappy.
“It’s the family, isn’t it?” I said. “Look, I know there’s been a lot going on, but things will calm down. Darlene’s gone now. Everyone has settled in here. I think—”
“Margaret,” Susan interrupted sternly.
I gulped.
“It’s not the family,” she said. “If it was, at least there’d be something I can do about that.”
“If it’s not the family, and he’s not sick, then what is it?” I asked.
For a long moment, Susan didn’t answer.
“It’s her, you idiot,” God bellowed from my chest.
Susan looked over at what, to her, sounded like a squeaking noise and shook her head.
Of course. I knew that the lizard was right, I just hadn’t wanted to face that possibility. But what else was there? It made me sad that their relationship wasn’t going to work out. I liked Lawrence Griswald and I liked that he had made Aunt Susan happy. She’d sacrificed a lot for her family, and I wanted that for her.
“They’re forcing him to retire,” Susan confided.
I blinked, surprised. That was not what I expected her to say. All the platitudes about working things out that I’d been trying to come up with were now of no use.
“He’s worried about being useless,” Susan confided.
Not knowing what to say, I just stood there. Selfishly, I wanted to ask how that would affect my father’s witness protection status…assuming he eventually returned to the program, but I knew that would be wrong to ask.
“Lots of people go on to second careers,” I offered desperately.
Susan nodded. “What’s he going to do? Go to work at The Corset?”
“Well, Loretta is auditioning male dancers…”
Despite her mood, Susan chuckled at the idea of her staid, buttoned-up, law-loving husband pushing the envelope of public lewdness laws. “Thank you, Margaret. You always know how to make me feel better.”
I blinked, surprised by the compliment.
Her face slowly reverted back to her worried scowl. “If only I could do the same thing for my husband.”
“What does he want to do?” I asked.
She shrugged. “He wants to keep catching bad guys and bringing people to justice.”
I nodded. Even though I did that in my own, albeit illegal, way, I understood the satisfaction in doing the right thing and affecting the right outcome.
“He’s been offered a high-level position in an elite security company,” Susan told me. “He doesn’t want to do it.”
I narrowed my gaze, trying to read her expression. “What do you want him to do?”
“I want him to be happy. I’d like him to be safe, but I’m not sure those two are mutually exclusive.”
I nodded slowly. “So, what else is there?” I asked.
“He could… become a private investigator,” Susan said. She didn’t sound too enthused about the idea.
“Has he said that?” I asked.
She nodded. “He’s kind of obsessed with it.” She looked around, as though making sure nobody was eavesdropping on our conversation. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Sorry, I don’t follow,” I said, confused.
“I want you to get a responsible job. He wants to become a private investigator and, well, he’s quite fond of you, Margaret. He wants to go into business with you.”
I took a step backward. “I wasn’t expecting that,” I sputtered.
“That’s why I came here, to warn you first. Before he approached you about it.”
“I assume you don’t want me to do it with him,” I said.
She shrugged. “You’re a resourceful young woman, Margaret, you should do whatever it is you want to do.”
I wanted to remind her that she’d just told me to get a job, but I thought better of it.
“But not because he wants you to do it, but because it’s something that interests you,” she continued.
I stared at her, unsure of whether or not she wanted me to turn down her husband’s offer. “I—” I began.
She held up a finger to silence me. “Think about it. He’ll give you more details,” she said. “Now, I’m going to go find my grandniece.”
I knew from her tone that she considered the conversation over. I was still confused, but this wasn’t the time to look for clarification.
“Just follow the laughter to the kitchen,” I said.
Nodding, she headed inside. I stood there for a long moment, in shock.
“What would the mobster think of you going into business with the retired U.S. Marshal?” God asked from the hiding place in my bra.
“I doubt he’d like it,” I muttered.
“On the other hand,” God reminded me, “it’s better to keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
“Griswald is not my enemy,” I corrected.
“Not yet,” God said. “But who knows what kind of things he could start looking into. And the problems he could cause you.”
Feeling slightly sick to my stomach at the thought of being even more at odds with Lawrence Griswald, I slowly began the trudge up the driveway toward RV’s parking spot. “I’m going to have to come up with a really good excuse to turn Griswald down.”
“Whatever you do,” God warned, “don’t make him suspicious. You don’t want him looking into you once he has more free time on his hands.”
4
I still hadn’t made it to RV when my cell
phone buzzed. “What now?” I muttered, pulling it out to see who it was. I didn’t recognize the number.
Not that that really means much. Both Patrick Mulligan, my murder mentor and former lover, and Zeke, one of my oldest friends and sometime co-conspirator when doing work for a shadowy organization I occasionally work for, have a habit of calling me from unfamiliar numbers. “Hello?”
“Hey, Mags,” Patrick’s voice rumbled through the phone, and I found myself relaxing a little. At least it wasn’t Ms. Whitehat requesting that I do another job for her shadowy organization.
“It’s the redhead,” God said, I assumed for the benefit of the pig.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“We may have a problem,” Patrick said.
I bit my tongue to keep from asking him if he’d ever known me not to have a problem. With Herschel being annoyed, and Susan warning me about the upcoming job offer, I had more than my fair share of problems this morning.
“That guy that I took care of at your grandfather’s place,” Patrick said.
“Elvis?” I said, referencing the mask of the man who had attacked me and who Patrick had hit with his car and more.
“Yeah,” he said. “Turns out his name was Ron Whitman.”
“Okay,” I said, wondering where he was going with this.
“The reason I know his name is Ron Whitman is because a missing person’s report has been filed about him.”
I took that to mean that Patrick had disposed of the body and it wouldn’t be found.
“It’s worse,” Patrick said. “His employer filed the missing person’s report.”
I held my breath, waiting. I knew full well who his employer was, the powerful Concord family, but I couldn’t let Patrick know that I knew. I was working a job for Ms. Whitehat and had gotten the attention of the Concords, one of the most powerful and well-connected families in the state. I didn’t need two aspects of my life converging. I suspected that would make things more of a mess than usual.
“He works for the Concords, you know, the most powerful family in the state.”
I winced when he said the phrase I’d just been thinking. It confirmed how much trouble I could be in. “One of them,” I said. “I refuse to believe that the Concords are all powerful.”
“Not your first run-in with them,” Patrick said.
Again, I held my tongue, deciding it was safest to just let him talk.
“There’s going to be an investigation,” he said. “Nothing will happen, but just be aware.”
“Got it,” I said.
“Talk to you soon.” With that, Patrick Mulligan disconnected our call.
Sighing, I turned my phone off and put it in my pocket.
“Are you going to tell Whitehat?” God asked.
I sighed, knowing that I should, but how could I explain that I knew about the missing person’s report when I knew that the person they were searching for was already dead and that his body wouldn’t be found. “One problem at a time,” I said. “My goal right now is to find out how long RV’s expecting to stay.”
I trudged the rest of the way up the driveway and considered the garishly pink camper that was parked there. It was covered with dings and scratched off or worn down stickers. I’d seen her drive the thing and she wasn’t very good at it, so the dents made sense, the color, not so much.
It didn’t seem to fit the woman who was so quiet and always so self-contained. She didn’t seem like the type who would draw attention to herself, and the moving Pepto-Bismol bottle sure did that.
Shrugging, I walked up to the door and knocked on it.
I waited a long moment but heard no noise stirring inside.
“Maybe she’s not here,” Matilda suggested.
I glanced down at the pig. “That’s the way my day’s going.”
“Maybe you should take advantage of the fact she’s not here,” God said, pulling himself up on my bra strap so he was back to being perched on my shoulder.
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe it’s time to work on your investigative skills,” he suggested. “See if it’s locked.”
I hesitated. I didn’t like the idea of snooping. Sure, I may kill the occasional person, but even I have my standards.
“Do it quickly,” God urged. “Before she comes back.”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Why not?” the lizard asked. “You could find out some useful info.”
“She’s entitled to her privacy,” I said. “Besides, Armani says she’s a much more powerful psychic than she is. She’d probably know if I went inside.”
“Coward,” God accused.
I fought the urge to flick him off my shoulder.
Sighing, I turned away from the door and started walking back down the driveway. I wasn’t looking forward to facing Aunt Susan again, and I didn’t like the idea that I had to talk to Herschel without having an answer for him about the length of RV’s stay.
“Maggie!” a voice called.
Turning around, I saw RV running toward me at full speed from the street.
I panicked, wondering who was chasing after her. I looked around for the nearest weapon, but there was nothing nearby. I picked up the biggest rock I could find, hefted it overhead, and prepared to do battle.
She stopped when she reached me, putting her hands on her knees and bending over while catching her breath.
Stepping between her and her would-be attacker, I scanned the area nervously. “Where is he?”
“Who?” she panted.
I gestured to her with the rock. “Whoever’s chasing you.”
“Nobody’s chasing me.”
“Then why were you running?” I asked, confused.
“To keep in shape,” she replied, straightening up.
“Ahhh, now there’s a novel concept,” God mocked. “Exercise for fitness.”
“Oh shut up.” I tossed the rock away.
Fighting back a grin, RV asked, “Were you looking for me?”
“Yeah.”
“Come in,” she said. “I’ll make us some coffee. You look like you could use it.”
I followed her into the camper van and watched as she efficiently made a small pot of coffee. While she worked, I surreptitiously looked around. Like the outside, the inside was worn. While I’m sure it had been a custom order, many years ago, the pink countertops and pink carpeting were all looking the worse for wear. I looked up at her again, thinking she was in such sharp contrast to her surroundings. It didn’t make sense that this was the kind of vehicle that she’d drive.
“I assume you want to talk about your grandmother,” she said, pouring a cup of coffee for each of us and sliding into the seat opposite me.
“That, and I wanted to see how long you planned on staying,” I said.
She arched her eyebrows. “Is it a problem, my being here?”
“I’m trying to determine that,” I told her, deciding it wasn’t smart to lie to a powerful psychic.
“But I thought Armani got permission before I arrived,” RV said, a thread of frustration weaving its way through her tone.
“She did,” I said with a heavy sigh. “Unfortunately, either my grandmother’s spirit has moved into my grandfather, or she’s acting through Zippy to influence his opinion.”
RV nodded thoughtfully. “It’s probably still in the dog,” she said. “Unless the dog brought the skull to your grandfather?”
I squinted at her, wondering how she knew about the skull. She didn’t offer an explanation.
She just continued on. “Chances are, though, it’s just the negative energy from the dog that’s affecting him.”
“Well, that’s good, I guess,” I said.
She shrugged. “I guess so. They were married?”
“A long time ago,” I replied. “He left when my mom and aunts were all fairly young.”
“Because of her?” RV asked.
“I assume so,” I admitted. “She was a very difficult woman.”<
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“She’s not going to be easy to get rid of,” RV said.
“How do we do it?” I asked.
Shrugging, she said, “That’s not my expertise. You’re going to have to find yourself a witch.”
She said it so offhandedly that it caught me off guard. I blinked and stared, trying to determine whether or not she was teasing me. She seemed deadly serious.
“A witch?” I asked.
RV nodded. “Do you know any?”
I shook my head slowly. Growing up, we had always called Susan, Loretta, and Leslie the three witches, but I don’t think that’s what RV meant. “I don’t think so.”
RV let out a chuckle. “I’m sure you do know some witches,” she said. “They just tend to keep their proclivities to themselves, but they’re a higher percentage of the population than you’d imagine.”
“So, what do I do?” I ask. “Do I go around asking people, ‘are you a witch ’?”
RV shook her head. “I know someone who can tell us how to find the most powerful witch in the area,” she said.
“Great,” I said, feeling slightly ridiculous that I was excited about the possibility of finding a powerful witch.
“It’ll cost you,” she warned.
“Like, money?” I asked.
RV shook her head. “It’ll cost you in ways you can’t even imagine.”
I let out a heavy sigh and dropped my head into my hands. “Can’t I just ask her to go away?”
RV considered that for a moment. “Have you tried that?”
I shook my head.
“Well, I really don’t know how much this stuff works, the way this stuff works, but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”
I frowned. “You didn’t know my grandmother. She was the kind of person that if you asked her to do something, she’d do the opposite just to spite you.”
“Then I guess asking isn’t going to do you any good.”
“Maybe if we can get her back into the skull,” I suggested.
RV held up her hands as though to stop me from speaking. “This is way above my pay grade,” she said. “I’m not a witch. I don’t know about these things.”
“But Armani said you’re more powerful than she is,” I reminded her.
RV shrugged. “Maybe, but I don’t know anything about the kinds of things you’re talking about. How do you know the skull was cursed?”