Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman (7 page)

Eager to get rid of them so that I could talk to Delveccio, I spun in a circle doing the hokey-pokey. “As you can see, I’m fine.” I glanced at the big guy. “How ’bout you? Meeting all three of my aunts at once must have been . . .”

“A bit overwhelming,” Alice supplied helpfully.

I shook my head. “You’re too kind.”

“I survived,” Lamont said with an easy smile.

Shaking my finger at him, I warned, “Whatever you do, don’t eat the love muffins!”

“Pardon me?”

“At breakfast. Don’t eat the love muffins. They’re terrible. Aunt Loretta, the sex-addict-slash-baker keeps putting weird aphrodisiac ingredients to them.”

“She’s not a sex addict,” Alice said.

“Why? Because it’s only PC to say a man’s a sex addict? The woman has had more lovers than Cassanova!”

Delveccio strolled back in. He glanced in my direction. I thought I saw a tad of annoyance in that look. I really had to find a way to get rid of my Amazonian friend and her even bigger boyfriend. Soon. Preferably before I changed my mind about taking the job, or the offer was rescinded.

“Anyway,” Alice soothed, blissfully unaware of my dilemma, “I just wanted to come check on you.”

“And I thank you for that, but you must be tired from your trip. Why don’t you go back to the B&B to rest, and I’ll call you tomorrow to catch up?”

Tony/Anthony was talking to one of the nurses. I hoped that didn’t mean he was leaving already.

“But I haven’t seen Katie yet. Leslie says it’s terrible, wires and machines everywhere.”

“It is. Maybe now isn’t the time? Maybe come back when you’re feeling stronger?” After all, Alice had been the kid who fainted at the sight of her own blood when she’d fallen off her bike and skinned her knee.

“Is it okay if Lamont comes with me?”

“Of course.” It meant I’d be rid of both of them. “Only two visitors allowed in the room at a time. Third door on your left there.”

“Okay. We won’t be long.”

Hand-in-hand, the two giants moved toward Katie’s room. I looked over to Delveccio. He was still engrossed in his conversation with the nurses. I tried to catch his eye, but he didn’t look up.

Now what the hell was I supposed to do?

I sank into one of the waiting-area chairs and nodded encouragingly at Alice and Lamont. They were hovering in Katie’s doorway, much the same as the social worker Stacy Kiernan had. I wondered why people did that. Was it a lack of commitment on their part to step over the line? Did crossing the threshold irrevocably change things?

They disappeared from sight. Leaning forward, I dropped my head into my hands as I tried to figure out exactly what I should say to Delveccio. A pair of leather loafers that probably cost more than I made in a week stepped into my line of vision.

“Mind if I sit here?” Tony/Anthony asked, motioning at the chair beside mine.

“Of course not.”

He sank into the seat, his shoulder rubbing up against mine. I flinched. The scent of his expensive cologne managed to overpower the antiseptic smells of the hospital. “I didn’t recognize you at first. Good disguise.”

“Disguise?”

“Yeah. The dressed-down look, not attracting attention, smart move.”

I hadn’t dressed to camouflage my existence. I was wearing my usual work uniform, khakis, long sleeves, and flats.

“Personally,” the mobster continued, “I preferred the femme-fatale look you were working the other day, but I appreciate your business decision.”

Deciding that my wisest course of action was probably to just keep my mouth shut, I didn’t tell him that my
femme-fatale look
was a result of my not having anything else to wear to my sister’s funeral.

“Who’s the big dude?” Delveccio asked.

“My friend’s boyfriend.”

“He a linebacker?”

“Don’t know.”

“A bodyguard?”

“I don’t know.”

“A bouncer maybe.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t even know he existed until about five minutes ago. I’ve never met him before. I have no idea what he does.”

Tony/Anthony raised his hands in mock surrender. His diamond pinky came within inches of my face. “No need to be touchy about it.”

“I’m not being touchy. I just don’t want to talk about him. We have more important things to talk about.”

“We do?”

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“Like that . . . job you offered me?” I kept an eye on Katie’s door, half-expecting to see nurses flying in to revive Alice.

“You wired?”

“No. I haven’t had any coffee since this morning.”

“Are you for real?” Tony/Anthony turned to look right at me. I studied his face, wondering if this was even the twin who’d offered me a hundred grand to kill his son-in-law. If he wasn’t, I could be getting myself in a whole lot of trouble by opening my mouth, so I kept it closed.

He spoke with exaggerated slowness, so that I could keep up with his line of questioning. “Are you wearing a wire? A listening device? A bug? Are you going to try to rat me out to the cops?”

I shook my head and whispered, “Are you?” Cuz that was all I needed, to be sent to the big house by a career criminal.

He chuckled. “What did you want to talk about?”

“The job.”

“What about it?”

“I’ll take it.”

“You’re sure?”

I nodded.

He leaned back in his seat and fixed his gaze on Dominic’s door.

“You try to screw me with this and I’ll kill your whole family. Every, single last one of them.”

Cold fingers of fear clawed at my chest, making it difficult to breathe. “I . . . I believe you.”

He templed his fingers beneath his chin. To any would-be witness it probably looked as though he was praying. “I’m not convinced this is the best idea.”

Truth be told, neither was I, but I was too scared to voice my concern. I needed this job. Katie needed it.

He slid a sidelong glance in my direction. I probably looked like a puppy desperate to be thrown a bone.

“Okay. We’ll give it a shot. Meet my guy at the Galaxy Diner, nine tomorrow morning. He’ll teach you what you need to know.”

“I have to be at work at nine.”

“Call in sick. Or, if you don’t show up, I’ll assume you’re walking away from our deal and this was all one big communication error.”

As Alice and Lamont, fingers still entwined, emerged from Katie’s room, Delveccio got to his feet.

“Wait!”

He looked down at me.

“How will I know your guy?”

“He’ll know you.”

“He will?”

“But if it makes you feel better, he’ll be stacking condiments.”

“What?”

He walked away without explaining.

I switched my attention to my best friend, who was even paler than usual. “You okay?”

“She looks so . . .”

“Small? Weak? Lost?”

Alice nodded.

“I noticed.”

“How are you getting through this?”

I glanced at Delveccio’s back as he turned the corner and disappeared from sight. “I’m doing whatever it takes.”

Whatever it takes. Exactly what my dad had predicted. The thought made me frown.

Alice must have thought I was going to cry because she thrust a tissue at me.

For a second I considered confessing that I hadn’t been able to cry through this whole ordeal, but I didn’t want to burden my friend with that knowledge. I knew Alice. She’s a worrier. Worse than that, she’s a fixer. Tell her about a problem, and she’ll move mountains to make it better. It’s one of her most endearing traits, but it can also get annoying because she’s never willing to admit that there are some problems that just can’t be solved. Smiling weakly, I took the tissue from her. “Thanks for coming by.”

“We’re going to be at the B&B for a while, so if you need anything, anything at all, you know the number.” Alice hugged me hard, like there was some correlation between how tight she squeezed and her concern.

“It was nice meeting you, Lamont.” I wheezed.

That got Alice to ease up. She didn’t let go, but at least her embrace was no longer painful.

“I’ve heard a lot about you.” The big man smiled. “Don’t worry,” he joked, “most of it’s good.”

“I bet you have.” Alice and I have been best friends since second grade. “There’s a lot to tell.” I’d endured her entire line-up of loser boyfriends. I had to admit that so far Lamont didn’t have me urging her to get a restraining order.

“Oh crap!” I cried, smacking my palm to my forehead like in those V8 commercials.

Lamont took a step back, as though afraid I was going to hit him next.

“I totally forgot your good news. Congratulations! Both of you. Congratulations! Fuck! I am such a screw-up of a friend! I am so sorry! I’m happy for you! So freakin’ happy for you!”

Alice giggled and shook her head. “Give yourself a break, Maggie. You’ve got a lot on your mind.”

“But still I should have . . . right away, I should have congratulated you. It’s huge.”

“I’m going to be huge soon,” Alice sighed, putting her hand on her non-existent belly. “You’re going to be the kid’s godmother, right?”

I glanced at my other godchild’s room. I hoped I wouldn’t have to kill for this unborn child. “Of course.”

Chapter Ten

I
ALMOST CHICKENED OUT
the next morning. Big surprise there, right? I got dressed for work and everything, but the thought of poor Katie being stuck in a state institution had me calling in sick.

I pulled into the parking lot of the Galaxy Diner, a place bordering the seedy side of town, and took some long, slow, deep breaths. They didn’t help. My heart was still racing and my stomach was churning. I watched my car clock turn to 9:00
A.M
., then 9:01, then 9:02, and 9:03. I made a deal with myself to get out of the car before 9:05.

I knew that once I did, my life would change forever. The simple act would transform my existence in ways I couldn’t even imagine. I guess this is how people who are selected for those makeover shows on TV feel. I was about to throw myself at the mercy of a stranger for cash and prizes. Okay, just cash (with the prize being Katie opening her eyes).

The clock changed to 9:04. I opened my door. “Katie needs you, Maggie,” I muttered to myself. “You can do this. Whatever it takes. Whatever it takes.”

Taking a deep breath, I spun my lower body out of the car.

I almost snapped my damn neck.

The fucking seatbelt cut into my throat. I gagged. I choked. If I could have cried, my eyes would have watered. “Idiot! Fucking idiot!”

I unclasped the seat belt. Disentangling myself from it, I stumbled from the car. I didn’t dare look at the clock, afraid I’d missed the 9:05 deadline with my fumbling.

Pissed at myself, I stalked into the diner in search of a man stacking condiments. Since when was playing with your food some sort of covert signal?

“I’m meeting someone,” I growled at the hostess before she could ask me how many were in my party. Pushing past her, I scanned the place.

Typical diner: booths, chairs, a counter, the smell of bacon grease and burnt toast.

A familiar face, or at least a recognizable shock of red hair sat at the far end of the counter. Sure enough he’d made a tower of syrup containers on top of a bottle of catsup.

He didn’t look like a killer.

Then again, according to God, neither did I, but maybe that was because I hadn’t actually done the deed yet. Maybe once I did, took a life, maybe then my sin would be written clearly on my face for all to see.

At the end of the counter Detective Mulligan cocked his head as if he was trying to see me at a different angle, in a different light. Maybe he was trying to spot the wannabe killer lurking in the shadows of my soul.

Maybe I was being melodramatic.

Maybe he had something in his eye.

Sliding off the stool he’d been on, he slid into a booth where he began to start another tower of condiments. That was the sign that I should join him. If you asked me, I would have said it was a stupid-ass signal, but no one asked.

Feet numb and face hot, I shuffled toward him. The only sound I could hear was the frenetic beating of my own heart.

Without his sunglasses, I could tell he had blue-green eyes. He was older than I’d originally guessed, probably in his mid to late 40’s. He didn’t look like a killer.

And I sure as hell didn’t feel like one.

“Have a seat, Miss Lee.” Just like our earlier encounter, his voice was disconcertingly soft.

During that first conversation it had seemed gentle. Now it sounded menacing.

Swallowing hard, I slid into the booth opposite him.

“Coffee?”

I blinked.

“The waitress is going to be here in a second,” he prompted. “She’ll ask you if you want coffee. You have to answer her.”

I nodded my understanding.

“Coffee?” the waitress asked, as if on cue.

“Please,” Detective Mulligan said.

“Cream, okay?”

“Of course.”

She looked at me. “Coffee?”

Jerking my head in her direction, sort of like the Tin Man did when he needed oil, I nodded.

“Cream?”

My mouth was too dry to speak. I nodded again.

Turning on her heel, she strode away.

I jerked my head back to look at Detective Mulligan.

“You can still walk away, Miss Lee. I’ll tell our mutual acquaintance you never showed.”

I considered that for a long second. I really wasn’t cut out for this. I couldn’t speak, let alone kill. I slid along the bench and stood up.

Mulligan’s stayed very still, only his eyes followed me.

He really didn’t look like a killer.

I stood there at the end of the table, frozen with indecision. Part of me, the logical, law-abiding part of me, wanted to bolt. To forget this had ever happened. But my feet didn’t move.

“Restroom’s round the corner,” the waitress offered, reaching in front of me to put a cup of coffee down.

Stiffly, I moved toward the rest room, feeling like I didn’t have a brain, or courage, or a heart. Thankfully there was no one else in the bathroom. I stared at my reflection in the grimy mirror. No, I didn’t look like a killer.

But I did look like Katie’s aunt.

“Fake it ’til you make it,” I muttered at my distorted mirror image.

I marched back into the dining area and planted my butt in the seat opposite Detective Mulligan.

He arched his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. Instead, he raised his coffee cup to his lips and sipped, considering me carefully over its chipped rim.

I cleared my throat, hoping that when I made the attempt this time, words would come out. “I need the job.”

“Why?”

“Why? Is there some sort of job interview that goes with this? Am I supposed to tell you what my greatest weaknesses and strengths are?”

“Do you want something to eat? They make great waffles.” He waved the waitress over with two fingers.

“Can I get two poached eggs over waffles instead of toast? And a side of sausage? Oh, and a large orange juice.”

“Sure.” The waitress scribbled on her pad. Without looking at me, she asked, “What can I get you?”

I stared at the man across the table from me. Was I really about to break bread, or in this case waffles, with a killer? I mentally shrugged, as I realized it really wasn’t all that different than sitting across the breakfast table from Dad. “Just waffles for me. No eggs. No sausage. No juice.”

As she walked away, he picked up his coffee cup again. He gave me that inscrutable stare again. It made the back of my neck itch.

“Why don’t you tell me why
you
do it,” I challenged.

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Family.”

“Are you kidding me?” Obviously he knew about Katie, guessing that she was my motivation for agreeing to take part in this insane scheme.

Putting his cup down, he shook his head. “I’ve got kids in college. It’s expensive.”

I stared at that sphinx-like expression of his. I couldn’t tell whether or not he was fucking with me. “You need the money so badly, how come you’re not . . .”

His eyes narrowed, transmitting a warning to choose my words carefully.

“ . . . helping our mutual friend?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“But you’re not going to do the actual . . .” I searched for a euphemism for committing murder.

“Chore,” he supplied helpfully.

“You’re not going to do the actual chore.”

He shook his head.

“Why not? Why farm it out to me, to an amateur, to someone who’s never—”

“Done that kind of work before?” he interrupted.

“Yeah. Why me?”

“Because,” he said, matter-of-factly, “as your . . . friend pointed out yesterday, I’m the Courageous Cop. Probably the most recognizable law enforcement officer in the state. It’s cramping my style.”

“So you play hero, and it screws up this other thing?”

“I wasn’t
playing
hero. It wasn’t my fault the news crew caught the whole thing on tape. They were there to film a piece about peacocks who’d escaped from the zoo, not me!”

“And now your style’s cramped?”

He nodded. “Now you tell me, why do you need this job?”

“You know.”

“Assumptions are dangerous things. I’d like to hear it from you.”

“Family.” I parroted his own reply back at him.

He tilted his head to the side. I could almost hear him thinking,
Touché!

“I need the cash in order to make sure that my niece continues to get the best possible care. I’m her godmother. I’m responsible for her.”

He nodded, but said nothing.

I waited for him to say something, anything, but he stared down at his coffee cup.

“I need this job.”

He didn’t look up. He didn’t respond.

My stomach flipped nervously. Katie’s life hung in the balance. If he turned me down . . .

“Please,” I said, reaching across the table to grab his wrist. “I need this job.”

“I know you do.” He looked at where our hands met. He used his other hand to cover mine, trapping me there. “I’m just not sure you’re up to it, and if you’re not . . .”

The unspoken threat hung in the air. If I wasn’t up to killing Alfonso, Delveccio would have someone kill me . . . probably the very guy who was using his thumb to explore the hills and valleys of my knuckles.

He released me as the waitress arrived with our food. I clasped my hands together in my lap, an almost prissy, lady-like gesture. My aunts would have been proud, prouder still if I crossed my ankles while I was at it.

Detective Mulligan broke his egg yolks so that they seeped into the waffle. It was one of the most unappetizing breakfast combinations I’d ever seen. Spearing a sausage, he stuck the whole thing in his mouth. He considered me carefully as he chewed.

Unwilling to meet his searching gaze, I busied myself with slathering butter into every crevice of my waffle. “You’d think it would be more cost effective to put more product into bigger packaging,” I muttered, struggling to open my third pack. “No one ever uses just one or two.”

“Maybe,” he said, prying the plastic from my fingers. “They figure people will give up because they can’t get them open. So therefore they use less.”

He peeled back the lid with no problem and handed it back to me.

“That might work for the diner owners, but how does that benefit the butter producers?”

“Damn, she forgot my juice.”

“Maybe,” I suggested, “they charge per hundred packets or something like that.”

“I need my coffee refilled too.” He held up his cup so that the waitress could see, the universal sign to top it off. “Can I get my juice, when you get a chance?” he asked as soon as she was within earshot.

“You said no juice,” the waitress said, petulantly snapping the wad of chewing gum that made one side of her face look like she was a chipmunk undergoing dental work.

If she’d spoken that way to me, I would have cracked wise at her, but Mulligan just sort of smiled and said quietly, “Actually I asked for a large orange juice. She,” he inclined his head in my general direction, “said no juice.”

“Fine. Large orange juice.” Refilling his coffee, she got almost as much in his saucer as she poured in the cup. Without asking me if I wanted mine warmed, she flounced off.

“I said the waffles were good, not the service,” my tablemate said before I could even open my mouth to make a crack about the service with a smile. He pulled a handful of napkins from the dispenser and layered them between his cup and saucer. They quickly turned brown as they soaked up the liquid.

The charming waitress smacked a large tumbler of orange juice in front of him as though she was using the glass to tenderize the table.

“Thank you,” he murmured politely.

I wondered if maybe he thought killing someone with kindness was actually possible.

“You got any experience?” He crammed a mouthful of egg and waffle into his mouth.

“Experience?”

“With the chore. Have you done it before?”

“Do I look like I’ve done it before?” I squeaked a little. Did he too think I look like a killer?

“I thought maybe your father. . . . never mind. Do you have any special skill sets?”

“How do you know about my father?”

“The whole force knows about Archie Lee.”

The bank teller my father had “accidentally” killed was the wife of a cop. Yet another reason he would spend the rest of his life rotting in a cell.

Detective Mulligan put his fork down and sat up straight, as though an idea had just occurred to him. “Why don’t you just ask him where his stash is? He got away with what? A million? That would go a long way toward paying hospital bills.”

I’d already thought of that. He hadn’t offered when I’d gone to visit him in prison. I sure as hell wasn’t going to ask him for it, but I wasn’t about to get into that with the redhead sitting across from me. “According to the prosecutor it was just under ten million. He didn’t get that much cash. Most of it was in the form of jewels.”