The Hitwoman and the Neurotic Witness (5 page)

All the walls had been painted with ocean views. One wall was just waves. Another featured a tropical island complete with palm trees and a Tiki hut. Still another showed mermaids frolicking in the sea. The floor was painted to look like the boards of a ship and the ceiling was a sky dotted with fluffy clouds.

The paint had faded over the years, but even I had to admit that the effect was still pretty amazing.

“Holy cow.” Patrick stood up so that he could turn to take in the entire effect of the room. “This is amazing.”

“This,” I said sadly, “is my mother in her manic stage, teetering on the cusp of losing her mind.”

“She did this?”

I nodded.

“She’s very talented.”

“I was in second grade when she did this. She holed up down here for what felt like weeks, singing and painting. As soon as she was done, she had her breakdown and was hospitalized for the first time.”

“And that’s why you were scared?”

“I was scared because it’s dark down here.”

“Scary!” DeeDee panted, nudging Patrick’s hand with her head to get him to pet her.

There was a flurry of activity upstairs.

“Guests have arrived,” I guessed.

While most of the conversation was indistinguishable, I clearly heard Aunt Susan say, “With you dressed like that, do you think they’re expecting to stay at a B&B or a brothel?”

Patrick chuckled. “Apparently Loretta isn’t going to be spared her wrath either.”

“Pet,” DeeDee insisted, shoving her face against his fingers.

He stroked the dog. “Are you going to be okay down here?”

“No,” DeeDee panted.

“We’ll be fine,” I assured him.

“Speak for yourself,” God groused. “I’m freezing.”

“Margaret!” Susan bellowed from upstairs, sounding more like a longshoreman than my genteel aunt.

“I’d better see what she wants,” I muttered, struggling to get up off the lumpy couch.

Patrick extended a hand and pulled me off the couch. At the same moment his cell phone buzzed.

As I moved toward the stairs, he answered it. “Mulligan.”

I paused at the base of the steps, when he held up a finger, signaling me to wait as his caller spoke.

“Hang on a sec.” Covering the speaker of his phone, he frowned. “I’ve got to go.”

Hoping my disappointment didn’t show on my face, I nodded. “Thanks for your help.”

“I’ll be back to check on you,” he promised.

I shrugged. “No need. Griswald is staying.” Feeling like I was dragging my feet through mud, I climbed the stairs as he returned to his phone call.

At the top I hesitated, realizing I’d left God and DeeDee downstairs and would have to face Aunt Susan’s wrath alone. Squaring my shoulders, I took a deep breath, threw open the door and marched into the dragon’s lair.

My dramatic entrance was wasted. The kitchen was empty.

Realizing that everyone had moved to the sitting room, I moved in the direction of their voices, deciding it was probably a good sign that Leslie was no longer sprawled out on the dining room floor.

My relief was short-lived.

Before I even stepped into the sitting room I was overwhelmed by the heady, earthy scent of patchouli.

The first thing I saw when I walked in was a woman Aunt Susan would call “hippie dippie.” I had no doubt the woman in a full-length denim skirt, a tie-dyed t-shirt, and a mass of curly hair that reached her ass was the source of the rotting woodsy odor that gave me an immediate headache.

The woman had her back to me, so I couldn’t see her face, but I could see that of her companion.

I sucked in my breath, partially as a defense against the stink, and partly because I was more than a little shocked to find myself face-to-face with Zeke Roble.

Zeke and I have quite the history. We’ve known each other since we were kids and shared a kind of kinship since his family is almost as dysfunctional as mine. As teenagers we’d had a falling out, not because I thought he was gay, but because I thought he was trying to come between me and my best friend Alice.

A couple of months earlier Zeke had returned to town, just in time to help out with Alice’s impromptu (because she’d gotten herself knocked up) wedding, thereby renewing our rivalry.

But it had ended up that he wasn’t ever trying to come between us, he most definitely wasn’t gay (his scorching kisses had proved that) and we still shared a kinship (though now it’s because he’s a thief and I’m a hired killer…not that he knows that).

Our entire history flashed through my mind as he jumped up and hurried toward me.

“Maggie,” he said, pulling me toward him in a tight hug. “Loretta told me everything you’ve been going through. Are you okay?”

I hugged him back, not just because he’s a ridiculously good-looking man who seems to find me attractive, but because I was so relieved to know I wasn’t going to be alone in the B&B without an ally.

“It’s good to see you, Zeke,” I said warmly and I meant it. We’d reached an understanding the last time he’d been in town and I once again considered him to be a friend.

Behind me, I heard someone clear his throat.

I turned to see Patrick standing in the doorway, his gaze steady on Zeke, jaw tight, his expression unreadable. Without looking at me he said, “DeeDee’s hot. I think she may be running a fever. You should keep an eye on her.”

Avoiding making eye contact with me, Patrick looked over to Griswald who sat on the settee, looking a bit shell-shocked.

“Another building’s gone up. This time there were fatalities,” the redheaded detective said. “I’ll check back in with you tomorrow. You’ve got my number if you need me sooner.”

Griswald nodded. “Might be a good thing.”

“Depends who died,” Patrick replied. Transferring his gaze to Susan who was perched on the edge of a rocking chair in the corner he nodded politely. “Ma’am.”

Turning, he walked out without saying goodbye to me.

Balling my hands into fists, I fought the urge to chase after him and explain my embrace with Zeke.

“Who’s he?” Zeke asked.

“Detective Mulligan,” Aunt Susan supplied, standing up. “He saved DeeDee’s life when she was stabbed. I’m going to go check on the poor dog. Margaret, can you show our guests to their rooms?”

“Of course,” I said.

Susan turned her attention to Marshal Griswald. “You don’t mind letting your brother in when he arrives?”

“Not a problem,” Griswald replied distractedly, reading something on his phone.

“It’s good to see you, Zeke,” Susan said fondly, pausing to pat his arm as she left the room.

“Thank you again for accommodating us,” he replied.

“Anything for you.” Susan left the room while I wrestled with my old jealousies that Zeke lead a charmed life.

He turned his easy, charming smile on me and I couldn’t help but grin back. It wasn’t really his fault my aunts thought he was close to perfect.

“Where are we staying?” he asked.

“The P’s are ready,” I said.

During high school, when his mother had disowned him for turning his drug dealing dad into the cops, Zeke had lived at the B&B, which is why I spoke in shorthand about the preparation of the Primrose and Peony rooms.

“I’ll bring up the bags,” he said, moving toward the stack of luggage in the corner.

Jerking my chin in the direction of the woman’s back, I mouthed, “Introduce me.”

“Gypsy? I’d like you to meet one of my oldest friends, Maggie Lee. Maggie this is Gypsy,” Zeke intoned politely.

I was glad the woman’s back was to me since I’m pretty sure I rolled my eyes when he said a grown woman went by the name “Gypsy.”

As she turned around, I realized she was younger than I’d guessed, closer to my age.

I did my best to paste on an appropriate genteel hostess smile. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you.”

She stared at me without answering.

Wondering if she was mute or had taken some bizarre vow of silence, I slid a sideways glance in Zeke’s direction, but his attention was on his cell phone, which had just buzzed.

“I’ve got to take this outside,” he said, waving the phone at us. “You guys go up to the room.”

He hurried outside. Gypsy kept staring at me. I looked to Griswald, hoping he’d offer me some sort of respite, but the poor man had fallen asleep where he sat.

I motioned for the silent woman to follow me and led the way out of the sitting room. A cloud of patchouli chased me up the stairs.

Wanting to get back in Aunt Susan’s good graces, I did my best to deliver the B&B spiel to our newest guest. “So we’ve put you in the Primrose Room. The shared bath is two doors down on the left. Breakfast is served from six to ten. If you have any dietary restrictions, please let us know and we’ll do our best to accommodate your needs.”

Reaching the top of the flight, I opened the door to the Primrose Room, saying a silent prayer that the room was feng shui-ed to her liking. Holding my breath, I turned to face Gypsy. She stared over my right shoulder.

Swallowing hard, I exhaled and asked, “Everything okay?”

“Is this place haunted?” Despite her penchant for patchouli and her hippie-wannabe outfit, she sounded surprisingly normal.

I considered her question for a moment. Sure, there was a time, not too long ago when I would have thought she was a total loon for even asking, but that was before I started talking to animals and believing that my friend Armani is at least semi-psychic.

“I don’t know.” I stepped into the room. “You tell me.”

She followed me inside, sweeping her gaze back and forth. “You have a lot of death around you.”

The cynic in me guessed that she’d overheard Loretta telling Zeke all about my father’s escape from prison and my misadventures with the now departed Paul Kowalski, Frank Velicky and Sergei Dubrof, but the part of me that now believed in Doctor Doolittle and psychics worried she somehow knew about the two men I’ve killed for the Delveccios: his son-in-law and Gary the Gun.

I struggled to quell the nervous flip-flopping of my stomach. I couldn’t afford anyone finding out about my hitwoman jobs….no matter how crazy their claims might seem.

“Is it haunted?” I asked, hoping to distract her.

“The room isn’t,” she said slowly. “But you are.”

“I am?” I asked, my voice squeaking like a frightened mouse.

She nodded.

Patrick’s Rule Number One:
Don’t Get Caught
echoed in my head. Panic flooded through me, making it difficult to breathe.

“Can you see them?” I asked, trying to buy some time.

“They’re shadows.”

I let out a shaky sigh of relief.

“I can hear them,” she added.

I clenched my hands at my sides. I’d managed to kill two criminals, escape the murderous rampages of others, and now I was going to be taken down by a much less sexy version of The Ghost Whisperer. “What are they saying?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. It’s just murmuring—no words.”

I unclenched my fists.

“I’ve heard that there are people who can see and talk to them. But most of the time I can just sense them. Everything’s fuzzy. Unless, of course, they’re trying very hard to give me an extremely important message.”

“Oh,” I said. Not exactly sterling conversation, but I didn’t know what else to say.

Thankfully Zeke thundered up the stairs, lugging the suitcases with him, saving me from trying to make small talk.

“Here you go,” he said, plopping two rolling black suitcases in the middle of the room.

I eyed them curiously, thinking they didn’t match Gypsy’s vibe at all.

“Everything set up okay for you?” Zeke looked around the room at the rearranged furniture.

She nodded.

“Anything you need?” he asked. The look he gave her was loaded with meaning.

A meaning I didn’t quite understand, but I suddenly felt like a third wheel. I cleared my throat. “I’ll leave you to get settled.”

“Sleep,” Gypsy replied testily, shooting a dirty look at Zeke. “I can’t do anything without sleep.”

He nodded. “Of course. Sleep well.”

He ushered me out of the room, pulling the door closed behind us. Brushing past me, he headed back downstairs, leaving me to follow.

“How’s your mom doing?” he asked halfway down the flight of steps.

Thrown by the question, I stumbled and had to grab the handrail to catch myself before I tumbled down the stairs. “She’s uh…okay.”

“Have you seen her much?” He headed for the kitchen.

My mom resides in the local nut house, but she’d gotten a Day Pass to attend the wedding of my friend Alice and her now-husband, Lamont. Zeke had spent a lot of the wedding visiting with my mother.

“I’ve seen her a couple of times,” I told him, hoping that the guilt I felt for not spending more time with her wasn’t obvious.

“That’s good,” he murmured.

Leaning back against the kitchen counter, I watched Zeke rummaging in the fridge like he still lived at the B&B, as he had when we were in high school.

“So what’s with you and Gypsy?” I asked.

Even though I couldn’t see his face because he was busy sniffing some of Aunt Susan’s leftover pot roast, I could tell from the way his whole body stiffened that he didn’t like the question.

“It’s business,” he said, his words sounding muffled as they were swallowed up by the refrigerator.

“Business at a B&B?” I asked.

Sighing, he put the pot roast back on the shelf, shut the door, and turned to look at me. His expression was stern.

I’d faced down paid assassins. Zeke Roble’s scowl didn’t even make me blink.

“It’s business,” he said firmly. “I have no romantic interest in the woman.”

I waited for him to flirt with me, but he didn’t. He was
that
serious.

“I didn’t say you did,” I said lightly.

“And I’m not here to woo you,” he said firmly. “My stay here is strictly business.”

“Woo me?” I mocked. Another woman might have been disappointed. After all, we’d shared some red-hot kisses the last time he’d been in town, but I just felt relieved, since my relationship with Patrick had grown since then.

“Woo is too old-fashioned a term?” Zeke asked, giving up on his scowl and flashing his trademark grin.