by J. B. Lynn
She shook her head, walked to the back of the car, and tossed her headlamp in. I followed suit and slammed the trunk shut. Together, in total silence, we drove back to the compound.
As we pulled up to her vehicle, I saw Jack Stern and Patrick Mulligan in conversation just outside it.
“Did you kill him, your husband?” I asked RV.
She didn’t answer me. She just stared at the two men.
“I can put it into reverse and take off,” I offered. It was the least I could do considering what she’d done for me. “We could be the modern day Thelma and Louise, but I call dibs on Brad Pitt.”
She shook her head. “It’ll be okay,” she said.
But I could tell from her tone, she wasn’t sure that was true. I pulled to a stop in front of the camper and got out. I also made sure to release Matilda, but Zippy, worn out from his ordeal, stayed asleep in the back seat.
“Go tell the others we’re back and that Zippy’s okay,” I whispered to the pig.
She happily waddled off into the night.
“What’s going on?” I asked Patrick.
He shrugged. “The intrepid reporter thinks there’s a murderer on your land,” he said. His eyes skimmed over RV, who raised her chin defensively.
“Do you believe him?” I asked the police detective, who moonlights as my murder mentor.
The redhead shook his head. “He’s got no proof.”
“We talked about this, Jack,” I told the reporter sternly.
“Yeah,” he said, frowning. “But that doesn’t mean that I’m not right.” He gave RV a hard look.
She met his gaze with a blank expression.
Muttering under his breath, Jack stalked away.
Patrick wrinkled his nose. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you two really stink.”
“That’s me,” I admitted, mildly embarrassed.
“What happened…” he began to ask. Seeing my expression, he shook his head. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“I’m gonna turn in, unless there’s something else,” RV said.
Patrick stepped aside to allow her into her vehicle.
Once she was inside, he moved toward his own before pausing and turning to say to me, “Interesting things happened tonight.”
I wondered if he knew about my involvement at the grave robbery. “Oh?”
“Seems like the Feds busted almost everybody in the Concord family.”
I let out a sigh of relief.
“It’ll be in the paper tomorrow. They’re being brought up on a myriad of charges. That should take the attention off you, at least for a while.”
“And the Feds just happened to do this tonight?” I asked, thinking that the timing seemed to be a little too much of a coincidence.
He shrugged. “Apparently, they got some new evidence.”
“From you?” I asked, assuming he’d been doing his best to look out for me.
He shook his head. “Nope. You must have somebody way more powerful than me in your corner.” Patrick moved closer to his car, tossing over his shoulder, “Stay out of trouble, Mags.”
Neither one of us acknowledged that that seemed to be something that I’m incapable of.
37
Herschel was waiting by the barn when I pulled the rest of the way down the driveway. He was pacing, nervously.
“Herschel’s here,” I announced to Zippy. I opened the back door and let the little white dog go flying out.
He charged toward his master gleefully. “Herschel! Herschel!”
Herschel, realizing that his dog was back, bent down and scooped him up in his arms, tears of joy streaming down his face. “You did it,” he said to me gratefully.
“With some help,” I said.
Tiredly, I began to walk toward the house. DeeDee and Piss flanked me on either side.
“Is it over, sugar?” the one-eyed cat asked worriedly.
“She’s gone,” I assured her.
“Hungry!” DeeDee barked.
“Feed the beast,” God implored. “She’ll starve otherwise.”
Chuckling, I led them into the kitchen.
Griswald was sitting at the table, sipping a cup of coffee despite the late hour.
“You were out late.”
“I was helping a friend with something,” I said.
He squinted at me. I knew he was looking for the truth, I couldn’t offer it to him.
“You’re here late. Is something wrong?”
“Susan misses her sisters,” he said quietly. “We’re moving in.”
“Templeton will be glad for another male presence,” I joked.
“He’s not such a bad guy,” Griswald mused.
Considering we both knew Templeton had a questionable past, that was a high compliment coming from him. It showed me that he was way more capable of appreciating the nuances of right and wrong.
“I made a decision,” I blurted out impulsively.
He put down his cup and waited.
“I’ll join you,” I said. “I’ll help you with your investigations.”
He nodded.
I expected a smile, at least, but he just nodded.
“Unless you’ve changed your mind,” I said, feeling stupid for having made the announcement considering how unenthused he seemed.
“No,” he said definitively. “We’ll talk about it soon.”
I fed the dog, offered a snack to the cat, who declined, and went to check on Katie.
My niece, hands folded under her cheek, was sleeping like a little angel.
God clambered up onto my shoulder so that he could look down on her. “You saved her again, Maggie.”
“We saved her.”
THE END
Author’s Note
Did you find The Hitwoman and the Exorcism bewitching? Be sure to check out RV's solo adventures over at www.cursedchicks.com.
As always, if you want me to be able to continue to write more of Maggie's stories. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE take a minute to leave a review of this book.
Hugs and murder,
JB
Also by JB Lynn
HITWOMAN BOOKS IN ORDER
Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman
Further Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman
The Hitwoman Gets Lucky
The Hitwoman and the Family Jewels
The Hitwoman and the Neurotic Witness
The Hitwoman Hunts a Ghost
The Hitwoman and the 7 Cops
The Hitwoman and the Poisoned Apple
The Hitwoman’s Downward Dog
The Hitwoman’s Act of Contrition
The Hitwoman Hires a Manny
The Hitwoman and the Sacrificial Lamb
The Hitwoman and the Chubby Cherub
The Hitwoman and the Mother Load
The Hitwoman Under Pressure
The Hitwoman Plays Chaperone
The Hitwoman Takes a Road Trip
The Hitwoman in a Pickle
The Hitwoman and the Gold Digger
The Hitwoman's Juggling Act
The Hitwoman and the Fallen Angel
The Hitwoman Goes to Prison
The Hitwoman and the Exorcism
And don't miss the Psychic Consignment Mystery series.
One Woman’s Junk
Gently Used, Still Works
Another Woman’s Treasure
About JB Lynn
A Jersey Girl transplanted to the Sunshine State, JB (you can call her Jen) writes laugh-out-loud suspense and mysteries with a dash of romance, but she’s been known to dabble in the occasional goosebump-raising thriller.
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