Maggie Lee (Book 7): The Hitwoman and the 7 Cops (3 page)

“What on Earth?” Susan murmured worriedly.

“Stay here.” I pressed down on her shoulder, pinning her to the seat.

She tried to grab my hand to keep me with her, but I pulled free and charged toward the kitchen.

“Sugar, don’t—” the yowling cat tried to caution.

But the warning came too late. I barreled in and was forced to skid to a stop as I was confronted with the carnage.

Aunt Loretta and her fiancé, Templeton, were both prone on the floor. There was glass everywhere and blood pooling beside Templeton’s head.

Brian was on his cell phone, barking orders, while Mike grabbed a dishtowel, wadded it into a ball, and pressed it against the gash on Templeton’s forehead.

“Oh my God,” Susan wailed from behind me.

Instinctively, I turned and grabbed her as her knees buckled. Half-dragging, half-carrying her, I managed to deposit her in the nearest dining room chair. “Stay here. Let me see what’s going on.”

“Loretta,” she cried, tears already streaming down her face.

“I’m sure it’s worse than it looks,” I assured her. “Just stay here.”

Leaving her side, I rushed back into the kitchen. The marshal and detective were both kneeling, providing first aid to the two victims on the floor.

“Go out to the driveway and flag down the squad car when it gets here,” the marshal ordered.

Nodding dumbly, I stumbled past them, glass crackling beneath my feet with every step I took. My legs felt heavy and a peculiar weakness gripped me, but I forced myself to walk to the street.

“Maggie?” a familiar male voice called.

I turned slowly in its direction.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I struggled to focus on the man in front of me.  “Zeke?”

My teenage friend/nemesis/crush grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me gently. “What’s wrong?”

I frowned. As much as I like Zeke, his return to town always seems to spell trouble for me.

The sound of approaching sirens reached my ears. “They’re coming here.”

Zeke tensed. “Why?”

“The detective called them.”

Like me, Zeke isn’t actually a law-abiding citizen. I saw a moment of fear, a desire to run, flash in his eyes, but he held his ground.

“Loretta and Templeton.” I waved my arm in the general direction of the B&B. “They’re hurt… at least I hope they’re hurt.”

Releasing me, Zeke frowned and took a step backward. “You hope they’re hurt?”

“I hope they’re
just
hurt. They’re on the floor of the kitchen.”

“I think you should tell me what’s going on.”

“I wish I knew.”

A million possibilities rolled around in my head, but I didn’t dare voice any of them. Marlene was afraid of her pimp. Loretta was about to lose her shop to a vindictive ex. Templeton gambled with mobsters and paid regular visits to a pawn shop. My father was on the loose and it was well-documented that he had more than his fair share of criminal enemies.

Or maybe this was my fault. That was my greatest fear, that somehow, because of the work I did for Delveccio and the mysterious organization fronted by Ms. Whitehat, I’d somehow brought one of
my
enemies to my home. Maybe I was responsible for my family’s latest suffering.

The thought made me sick. I closed my eyes, swaying dizzily.

Resting a steadying hand on my shoulder, Zeke offered his support. “Tell me how to help.”

“Can you flag down the cops and ambulance?”

“Sure.”

With the wail of the siren growing closer, I left him at the end of the driveway. Rushing back to see what I could do for Loretta, or at the very least, Aunt Susan, I tried not to succumb to the guilt-induced weight pressing on my chest.

When I returned to the kitchen, Mike was still ministering to Templeton’s wound, while Brian had his hands full… literally… with Loretta trying to climb over him to get to her fallen fiancé.

“Ma’am, you can’t,” the detective panted, trying to hang onto my squirming aunt like they were at a State Fair and she was a greased pig.

Spotting me in the doorway, Mike, his expression grim, tilted his head in their direction. “Do something.”

“Loretta,” I marched across the broken glass. “Stop it. Stop it, right now.”

“But he’s hurt,” she sobbed in protest. One set of her fake eyelashes dangled from the corner of her eye like a demented spider.

“And you’re not helping. Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “I saw the blood and fainted.”

“Can you get up?”

She shrugged.

Catching the detective’s eye, I signaled that he should help me get her upright. He took one of her arms and I grabbed her other and we hauled her, rather unceremoniously, to her feet.

Swaying unsteadily, she caught sight of her beloved, and began to cry again. “I… he…” she blubbered.

The alarmed expression in the detective’s eyes would have been comical if I wasn’t been so worried that Loretta’s agitation was going to lead to a full-on meltdown.

“Aunt Susan?” I shouted. “Can you help me?”

Susan appeared in the dining room doorway. Smiling weakly when she saw that Loretta was conscious and upright, she opened her arms. Her sister flung herself into her embrace, sobbing.

A couple of uniformed officers, followed closely by Zeke and two EMTs, crowded into the kitchen.

While the medical personnel tended to Templeton, the detective and the marshal dealt with the cops.

I just stood in a corner, watching it all, trying to stay out of the way. Standing there, I determined that the kitchen window had been broken. I was no crime scene analyzer, but I assumed it was by the oversized brick now resting against the base of the refrigerator. That explained the broken glass everywhere, but it didn’t explain who was responsible.

“Give a girl a hand, Sugar?” Piss’s meow was barely audible over the multiple swirling discussions taking place.

It took me a second to figure out where her Southern drawl was coming from, but then I spotted her, scrunched up beneath the baker’s rack that doubles as a microwave cart.

Tiptoeing across the shattered glass, I bent down. “What are you doing there?”

“Haven’t you heard?” she joked weakly. “Curiosity kills cats.”

It was then I noticed the faint smear of blood that stretched across the floor to the cat’s hiding spot. “You’re hurt?”

“Glass.”

I carefully picked her up.

“Watch the paws,” she warned.

“Poor baby,” I crooned, holding her close.

“You can’t take me back to that awful place,” she pleaded, meaning the veterinarian’s office where I’d first met her.

“Of course not,” I soothed, carrying her downstairs to the basement so I could get a better look at her wounds.

“What’s going on?” God demanded to know from his glass enclosure as we descended the stairs.

“She’s hurt.”

“What happened? I
told
you to take me with you.” His tail twitched signaling his annoyance.

“Easy, big boy,” Piss mocked. “It wasn’t Maggie’s fault.”

“You don’t know that,” I muttered, laying her gently on the couch. I gingerly lifted one of her paws and peered intently at the sliver of glass sticking out of it.

She mewled softly.

“You should have an emergency vet on speed dial,” God remarked snidely. “Speaking of which, where’s the beast?”

A cold panic gripped me.  I froze.

“Where’s the mutt?” he asked again, worry straining his voice. “It’s not like her to not be in the middle of things.”

I shook my head, trying to keep a grip on my emotions. “Leslie was going to feed her.”

“But then she and Marlene went to visit your mother,” Piss reminded me softly.

“So where’s the dumb dog?” God asked, not bothering to mask his concern.

Twice before, DeeDee had been hurt saving me. What if she’d interfered again and was lying somewhere hurt?

“DeeDee!” I screamed, running toward the storm door. If she was in the yard, I had to get to her. “DeeDee, where are you?”

Bursting outside, I scanned the yard and saw no sign of her.  “DeeDee?” Terror made my voice squeak. “Where are you, girl?” I ran around the house looking for her.

She was nowhere to be found.

“DeeDee,” I sobbed, hysterical now as I imagined her dying alone. “DeeDee!”

Unable to see through my tears, I stumbled around the property searching for her.

Tripping, I would have fallen, but a strong arm snaked around my waist, holding me upright.

“Easy, Mags.” His voice, warm and steady, acted as a salve to my soul, immediately soothing my ragged nerves.

“Patrick.” I sighed, resting my head on his shoulder.

“Detective Mulligan,” he reminded me gently. “Rule Number One.”

Detective Patrick Mulligan, my murder mentor, has all these Life Lessons. Rule Number One is
Don’t Get Caught
.

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmured.

“There’s blood and Templeton and DeeDee and Dad and there’s a detective and a marshal and Loretta and Susan and Piss is hurt,” I told him in one breath, not bothering to pause for proper punctuation.

“The cat?”

Apparently, the only thing I said that made the slightest bit of sense was the very last thing.

“Yes. Piss. The cat.”

“Where is she?”

“Inside. I have to get her to a vet, and I have to find DeeDee, and Templeton’s hurt, and Dad’s on the loose—“

“Breathe, Mags. You’re not going to be able to do anything if you pass out.”

“Margaret? Margaret?” Aunt Susan called from around the house.

“Tell you what,” Patrick said quickly. “I’ll take care of the cat and find the dog.”

“There’s a marshal and a police detective here,” I told him.

“
I’m
a detective,” he reminded me with a grim grin.

Marshal Griswald rounded the corner. I moved to separate myself from Patrick and was surprised when he kept a firm grip on me. The marshal’s gaze, as he took in the sight of me leaning against the redhead, was assessing.  “Marshal Mike Griswald,” he introduced himself.

“Detective Patrick Mulligan,” my favorite cop replied. “You’re related to Larry Griswald?”

“My uncle.”

“I’ve worked with him quite a bit.” Patrick released me to shake Mike’s hand. “Good man. Good to meet you.”

The Marshal shook his hand, but didn’t bother to disguise his curiosity about Patrick’s relationship with me.

Patrick smiled easily. “I worked an escaped prisoner case with your uncle not long ago and met the”—he waved his hand to encompass the B&B—“whole family. They’re quite a crew, aren’t they?”

The marshal nodded.

“I was heading home and heard the call on my radio about the trouble here. Figured I’d swing by and see what was going on. Since Miss Lee’s father is testifying against the Lubovsky family, I was worried that they’d done something to try to dissuade him.”

The marshal nodded again. “Not out of the realm of possibility since Witness Protection has temporarily lost track of him.”

Patrick frowned. “That can’t be good.”

“To put it mildly.” Mike turned his attention to me. “Your aunt is looking for you, Miss Lee.”

“You haven’t seen my dog, have you?”

He shook his head.

“Well if you do, she’s a Doberman Pinscher. About seventy-five pounds. She’s scary looking, but a real sweetheart. Don’t shoot her or anything.”

“I don’t normally shoot dogs,” he assured me, sounding more than slightly offended. “It’s not in my job description.”

“The dog was stabbed by a bad cop recently,” Patrick interjected.

“My uncle mentioned that. Said the dog saved your life.” He looked at me pointedly.

I swallowed hard, another wave of guilt that I’d done something to endanger Doomsday, causing a painful lump in my throat.  I blinked away sudden tears.

“I told her I’d look for the dog. I carried her to the vet after she was hurt last time and I admit I developed a soft spot for the mutt.” Patrick shrugged as though he was embarrassed by the admission. “As long as it won’t interfere with your case.”

“No problem.  I’ve been known to walk my neighbor’s Husky just so I can play a game of fetch.” He cleared his throat and turned serious. “Your aunt wants you to go with them to the hospital. Under the circumstances, it would probably be best.”

“Circumstances?” I asked, my voice squeaking nervously.

“A crime scene team is going to go over the place and see if they can figure out what happened. If you go to the hospital, we can question you all there.”

I glanced at the B&B thinking about Piss and her bleeding paws. “But I was with you. You know I don’t know anything.”

“About the whereabouts of your father.”

“I don’t know where he is. I can’t go to the hospital. I just can’t. I—”

“Are you trying to avoid me, Miss Lee?” Every muscled in his body tensed and the marshal’s tone was suddenly harder and harsher.

I blinked at him. In reality I would like to avoid him. I’d like to avoid anyone and everyone remotely involved with law enforcement, since, I am, a murderer. But of course I couldn’t tell him that, so I told him the truth. “My cat’s hurt. She stepped on some of the broken glass. She needs medical attention. If I go to the hospital I can’t—”

“I’ll take her to the emergency vet clinic,” Patrick interrupted.

“She’s in the basement. I left her on the couch.”

“Problem solved.  Thanks, Mulligan.” Mike relaxed a bit and motioned for me to accompany him. “Let’s get you to the hospital.”

Resisting the urge to look back at Patrick, I followed the marshal while mentally repeating Rule Number One.

Don’t get caught.

Don’t get caught.

Chapter Four

The ride, as we followed the ambulance with its flashing lights and blaring siren, was uncomfortable.

Detective Brian and Marshal Mike sat in the front seat of their government-issued sedan while I perched in the middle seat in the rear, sandwiched between Aunt Susan and Aunt Loretta who were living up to their “witches” nickname.

Susan had started the moment we’d piled into the car.  “This is all Archie’s fault.”

“You don’t know that,” I’d automatically countered. I knew it could be my fault because of my illegal dealings, or Templeton’s since he frequented poker games with mobsters and was a regular at the local pawn shop.