The Hitwoman and the Poisoned Apple (Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman Book 8) (14 page)

I watched Susan’s internal struggle. She wanted to stay in her bad mood, but her pride in her work was too great not to express.

“I’m quite pleased with it,” she admitted grudgingly.

Deciding it was a good chance to stroke her ego, I said sincerely. “Yours
is
the best.”

She ducked her head, accepting the praise with humility. “That’s nice of you to say.”

“Purely selfish on my part. If I tell you how great it is, maybe you’ll make it more often.”

She smiled a little and got a faraway look in her eye. “Remember the time Darlene became obsessed with chocolate chip pancakes and launched a campaign to have them daily?”

I shook my head.

“You were all little then. She’d draw pictures of pancakes and leave them everywhere. On the table, in the kitchen, under my pillow, in the freezer.” Susan’s eyes grew misty with the memory.

“I don’t remember that at all,” I admitted.

“You were young. Plus,” she said with a heavy sigh, “it was during one of your mother’s
episodes
.”

“Episodes” was the term my aunts use when referring to those times when my mother went off the deep end, but stayed at home. “Visits” was what they used to describe the times she’d ended up at the psych ward.

“I’m going to visit her tomorrow,” I told my aunt.

She blinked her surprise. Teresa was always the good daughter who had dutifully visited mom in the mental hospital (and dad in prison). I’d always been resistant to visits. Not only did the place and its residents freak me out, I’d had a lot of residual anger at Mom, having blamed her for Darlene’s death.

Things had improved a bit after she’d been lucid when attending my friend Alice’s wedding, but I still didn’t like to go to see her.

“I see,” Susan said slowly.

Of course she didn’t. Couldn’t. After all she couldn’t know that I was visiting my mother in order to do Delveccio
a favor
by delivering a mysterious package to another of the residents.

“Don’t have your hopes too high,” Susan warned. “She hasn’t been making much sense lately.”

Before I could ask why she said that, Marshal Lawrence/Larry Griswald walked in with Armani and her serial killer boyfriend trailing closely behind.

I knew he was a serial killer the instant I saw him. Maybe it was the stringy hair, or the MOM tattoo circling his throat like a macabre necklace, or maybe it was the cold, dead space just behind his eyes that his trendy eyeglasses didn’t quite disguise. But I knew.

The Scrabble tiles had definitely been a warning.

Armani though was oblivious to it all.  “Maggie,” she trilled happily. “Meet Ike.”

I jumped up, more because I felt like sitting put me at a physical disadvantage than any sense of manners or propriety. I almost knocked over the chair in the process, but Griswald, moving quicker than I’d have given him credit for, caught it.

At the same time, he caught my eye and I knew he had the same misgivings as I about our new guest.

“Nice to meet you, Maggie.” Ike stepped forward, offering to shake my hand.

Trapped, I could do nothing except comply, trying to hide my revulsion as his flesh touched mine.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Ike said, a smile slithering across his face like a snake. “She talks about you all the time.”

“Does she?” I snatched my hand back and gave Armani a questioning look.

“We talked all night under the stars the first time we met.” She sighed. “So romantic, isn’t it?”

Not trusting myself to speak, I nodded. It didn’t sound romantic to me. It sounded creepy. Everything about the situation had my skeev radar bouncing off the charts.

“Is the ice cream ready?” Griswald interjected, offering me a reprieve.

“Coffee should be too,” Susan confirmed.

“I’ll get it,” I offered quickly, eager to get out of the room.

“I’ll help,” Griswald murmured.

Together we went into the kitchen, leaving Armani introducing Ike to Aunt Susan.

Once in the kitchen, I leaned on the counter, and took in a deep fortifying breath, trying to quell my urge to vomit.

Griswald wisely remained silent as he puttered around, putting the coffee in the insulated carafe and pouring cream into the pitcher Susan had left out.

Finally he cleared his throat. “You okay?”

I was worried he thought I’d lost it, but I didn’t want to lie to him, so I just hung my head.

“You’re not wrong,” he whispered.

I looked up. “Wrong?”

“You’re right not to trust him. The vibe he gives off.” The Marshal shuddered. “I’ve met some bad guys in my time, but he’s right up there. You should tell your friend to steer clear of him. Change her phone number. Change her locks.”

I wasn’t sure whether I was comforted by the fact his assessment of Ike matched up with mine or if it freaked me out more.

“We’ve got to go back in there.” He handed me the tray with loaded with the cups and coffee. “Don’t let him see your fear. He’ll use it against you.”

“Thank you,” I said sincerely.

“For what?”

“Being one of the few sane people I know.”

I was a jumpy, paranoid fool by the time I was ready to put DeeDee back in the car to return to Patrick’s house for God’s extraction. I imagined Ike lurking in every shadow as I crept across the backyard of the B&B.

“Hey, Mags.”

I sucked in a breath to utter a blood-curdling scream and found a hand slapped over my mouth.  Even as I struggled to free myself, I registered the scent of wintergreen and a familiar light, clean, and fresh cologne.

“Shhh,” he warned. “It’s just me.”

“Patrick,” DeeDee woofed softly. I wasn’t sure if she was greeting him or telling me who it was that held me captive.

Either way, I realized she was right and relaxed.

My mouth was released. “Sorry about that,” Patrick murmured, leaving a steadying hand on my arm. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Then why are you sneaking up on me in the dark?” I whisper-screamed.

“I was on my way to see you, when I saw you creeping around like a thief in the night. What are you doing?”

“I…” I trailed off. It wasn’t like I could tell him that God was conducting Operation Poisoned Apple in his home while we spoke.

“And what the hell were you doing in my neighborhood earlier?” There was no missing the anger in his voice. “Did you forget Rule Number One? Are you
trying
to get us caught?”

I backed up a step, instinctively putting distance between us while he attacked. Then remembering how pissed I was that he’d relegated me to second fiddle status, I went on the offensive. “Don’t
you
remember asking me to figure out who poisoned you and is framing your wife?”

“Sorry,” he muttered, spiking a hand through his hair. “It’s just been a lot to deal with.”

My adrenaline from having the crap scared out of me was still running high and I wasn’t appeased by his lame apology or explanation. “Do you think I’ve got access to NSA satellites or something and can do it in my pajamas in the comfort of my basement?”

“You don’t wear pajamas,” he reminded me in a low, seductive voice that made my body burn and my knees weak.

“Don’t,” I warned, holding up a hand to stop him. “Just don’t.”

A car pulled into the B&B’s parking lot, its headlights sweeping through the darkness.

Patrick dropped down to a crouch and I followed suit until I realized there was no reason to be hiding in my own backyard. While I stood back up, I saw DeeDee, belly pressed to the ground, doing her best soldier’s crawl to Patrick’s side.

Listening carefully, I made out two voices and realized the nighttime visitors were actually residents, Aunt Loretta and Templeton. Knowing that they’d snuck out in the middle of the night, or at least after dark, gave me a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach.

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.”