by Lynn, JB
“Susan,” Griswald bellowed from inside.
Griswald hurried out the door and looked around, but she’d already disappeared into the woods.
Silently, I raised a finger, pointing him in the direction his wife had gone.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he told me sternly. “We have that meeting in about an hour.”
10
Armani limped over to watch Katie feeding the bird. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked carefully.
“Maybe it means LUSH FIT. Maybe you’re going to find the perfect outfit.”
“Maybe.” That made even less sense than “shitful” but whatever.
“Do you play poker?” Templeton yelled from the front porch.
Without thinking, I nodded. One did not grow up the daughter of Archie Lee without knowing how to play cards. And I wasn't talking about Go Fish.
“No,” Armani answered with a wave of her hand. “That involves math.”
“We’re not talking about blackjack,” I said. I couldn't help but wonder how difficult she found it to count to twenty-one.
“Come play,” Templeton invited, waving me toward the house. “We need a third.”
I hesitated. I really wasn't in the mood to play cards, but considering how strangely Templeton had been acting, this might be a good opportunity to spend some quality time with him and figure out what was going on.
“Go,” Armani said. “I’ll keep an eye on the kiddo.”
“Have fun,” I said as I moved toward the house.
“Don’t lose your shirt,” Armani warned.
“We’re not going to be playing for real money,” I assured her.
“Yeah, but if you play strip poker, you could lose your shirt.”
I was still chuckling as I strolled into the house.
“And use five,” she called after me. “It’s important, I think. Use five.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that poker entails using five cards.
Aunt Leslie was sitting in the living room, intently reading. She barely glanced up at me, she was so engrossed in her book. I squinted at her. She appeared to be reading Katie’s schoolbooks.
I guessed that meant that Templeton hadn’t invited her to the game.
He was already sitting at the table shuffling cards when I reached the kitchen. There were three piles of plastic poker chips set up. Herschel was busy pouring coffee while being closely observed by the Doberman.
“Coffee, Maggie?” he offered.
“Please.”
“Too me?” DeeDee whined hopefully.
“Coffee is not good for dogs,” Herschel told her sternly as he handed me a steaming mug. “I made banana bread. Want some?”
“Yes,” the dog and I answered simultaneously.
“Flour is no good for dogs,” my grandfather lectured even as he tossed a corner of a slice to her.
She caught it midair and swallowed it whole.
I shook my head in disgust. Banana bread should be savored, never gulped.
I took my coffee and banana bread and settled into the seat opposite Templeton. DeeDee tried to lie under my chair but could only fit her head and one paw underneath.
He stopped shuffling the cards. “Griswald was supposed to play, but Susan had a fit about exposing your niece to gambling.”
“Ahh,” I murmured. “That explains her running out and him running after her.”
“Susan was always the high-strung one,” Herschel complained as he, too, sat at the table. “Even when she was a young girl, she’d get herself worked up over the smallest things.”
“Do you have a problem with us playing?” Templeton asked. There was a subtle challenge in his tone, like he was daring me to say I did.
I sipped my coffee, making him wait for my answer. “Of course not.”
Templeton nodded his approval. “You know how to play Texas Hold ‘Em?”
“It’s been a while, but I remember the basics.” That was what is called a bluff. I know a bit more than the basics. My sisters Marlene, Darlene, and Theresa had shown no aptitude for the card game, but I’d figured it out pretty quickly. As a result, my dad and I had played a lot in between his prison visits. And we played for high stakes…like dibs on the last waffle or having to wash the car. In the beginning, I went waffle-less and spent a lot of time holding a hose, but after a while, I got better, and by the end, I was able to say, “Leggo my Eggo” with confidence.
“Ante up, then.” Templeton pushed a chip toward the center of the table and dealt us each two cards.
I sensed God climbing out of my bra to perch on my shoulder in order to watch the game. Herschel, who can talk to animals, too, didn’t think twice about it, and Templeton had spent enough time with my crazy family that he didn’t blink an eye.
“The game of kings,” God declared excitedly.
“Pretty sure that’s chess, not poker,” Herschel corrected.
Templeton shot him a confused look. Neither of us explained he was talking to the lizard.
Herschel lifted his two cards and peeked at them before placing his bet.
I matched the bet without looking at mine.
Surprised by my action, Templeton raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, but remained silent. He tilted his cards up and glanced at them before matching the bet. “Let’s see the flop.”
He dealt three cards, face-up in the center of the table.
I missed Templeton’s reaction to the flop because Herschel distracted me, saying, “Best poker player I ever saw wore a top hat.” Then my grandfather wrinkled his nose and placed a larger bet.
“You’ve mentioned him before,” I said as I studied the three cards before looking at my own. I matched his bet. The last time Herschel had mentioned the top-hat-wearing man had been when he was telling me about leaving my grandmother, an event that was very fuzzy in his memory. “Do you remember his name?”
As I spoke, Templeton matched our bets and murmured, “And here’s the turn.” He flipped another card face-up onto the table.
“Something biblical, I think. The name, I mean.” Herschel rubbed the bridge of his nose.
I fought the urge to tell him to fold. I could tell from his expression that his hand was weak. But for some people, illogical hope is a staple. He placed an even larger wager.
I glanced at the four face-up cards and then looked across the table at Templeton. He was examining me with undisguised curiosity.
I offered him a tight closed-mouth smile and bet the same amount my grandfather had.
“Yeah, definitely a biblical name,” Herschel said as though the silence of the game made him uncomfortable and he felt the need to fill it.
Templeton raised the bet further.
I glanced at my grandfather, trying to will him to quit while he was ahead, but he didn’t. He matched Templeton’s chips.
I hesitated, trying to figure out what to do. Holding a pair of tens, I had a decent hand, but I wasn’t about to let Templeton know I can be an aggressive bidder. It was too early for that. You gotta know when to hold ‘em, and know when to…
“Fold,” I murmured.
A muscle jumped in Templeton’s cheek. I didn’t know if that signaled surprise or pleasure. “And the river.” He flipped over the last card.
I could tell from the slump of my grandfather’s shoulders that it wasn’t the card he’d been hoping for.
Templeton’s gaze slid toward him as his hand hovered over his chips. I winced, knowing he was going to get Herschel to bet even more. Then, his gaze slid toward me for a brief second. “I call.”
They both flipped over their remaining cards. Sure enough, Templeton had the winning hand.
Herschel continued to lose to both of us by always overestimating the value of his cards. I wondered if Aunt Susan knew this about her father’s penchant for losing and that’s why she’d gotten so upset about the gambling.
Meanwhile, Templeton and I kept trading back and forth very similar
pots.
Soon, Herschel was out of chips. “C’mon, DeeDee. Let’s go feed Irma,” he said, pushing away from the table and getting to his feet.
“Too me?” DeeDee woofed hopefully as she followed him out.
“Your dad taught you to play?” Templeton guessed as he dealt the next hand.
I drained the last of my coffee. “Yup. One of the many useless life skills I learned from Archie Lee.”
“What else did he teach you?”
I shrugged. “How to climb. How to lie to the cops.” I tried to keep the bitterness from my tone, but it still managed to creep in.
We both placed our bets.
“You ever hustle cards?” Templeton asked, absentmindedly playing with a pile of chips.
“A couple times, but word of a thirteen-year-old card shark spreads pretty quick.”
“Did you just admit to being a criminal before you became an assassin?” God sounded so shocked, I half-expected him to tumble off my shoulder.
“I was quite the juvenile delinquent,” I admitted aloud for the lizard’s benefit.
“I don’t believe that,” God said. “I’m sure you were coerced.”
Templeton turned the flop. It was three queens.
I glanced from the cards up to his face. “Impressive.”
“What’s impressive?” God asked.
I studied the face of the man on the opposite side of the table. I saw no guilt, no deception, but I knew in my gut he’d fixed the cards. The chances of that trio showing up had to be astronomical.
“Have you ever done it as an adult?” he asked calmly, ignoring my inference.
“Done what?”
“Hustled cards.”
“No.”
“You might have to,” he said.
I blinked at his ‘have to’ suggestion. “I can’t,” I told him. I wasn’t even sure what he was up to, but I knew I couldn’t be a part of it.
“You mean you won’t,” he countered quietly.
I nodded.
“You may not have a choice,” he warned.
All of a sudden the banana bread that I’d so enjoyed felt like a brick in my stomach.
11
Griswald stuck his head into the kitchen. “There you are.”
“Here I am,” I replied, wondering if he’d meant it literally when he’d told me not to go anywhere earlier. Had he expected to find me waiting in front of the house?
“We’ve got to go,” the U.S. Marshal told me.
“I’ll clean this up,” Templeton offered. “Thanks for the game, Maggie. It was…educational.”
I winced at the suspicious look Griswald gave me. He probably thought Templeton had corrupted my innocence or some other nonsense.
“We’re going to meet Mulligan,” Griswald muttered under his breath as we walked through the living room.
I had to hustle to keep up with him. “I thought you were waiting for Brian.”
“This is more important.”
Leslie was still intently studying Katie’s schoolbooks. Susan was making stabbing motions with a needle at the embroidery project she was holding. Neither of them looked up as we passed through.
I was glad to get outside until DeeDee came bounding up.
“Maggie!” she barked excitedly.
“You be a good girl and stay here,” I told her as I moved toward Griswald’s car.
“We can’t take mine,” he said. “We’ll take yours.”
I changed course and headed toward my car.
“Go too me!” DeeDee insisted. “Shotgun!”
“You can’t call shotgun if there’s another human riding, you drooling dolt,” God snarked.
Griswald glanced at the squeaking lizard on my shoulder and shook his head.
“Hush,” I said tiredly. “Both of you.”
DeeDee was silent, but she made a point of blocking the driver’s door so that I couldn’t open it.
I motioned for her to move away, but she didn’t budge.
“Ahh, revolt in the ranks,” God whispered so that only I could hear.
“You have to move,” I told her firmly.
She looked up at me with baleful eyes and sat down.
I sighed. Looking over the roof of the car at my boss, I asked, “Mind if the dog comes along?”
“Good idea! She’ll make an excellent cover!”
“Cover for what?” I asked as he and DeeDee simultaneously climbed into the car, though he was in the front seat while she sprawled over the rear.
I closed the door behind her and got behind the wheel.
“We’re meeting Mulligan at the park,” Griswald revealed.
I swallowed nervously. Patrick didn’t have the best record there. He’d been working undercover as a homeless guy and gotten beaten up by some young thugs. If DeeDee and I hadn’t been there, things could have ended badly for him. Of course, if Ian hadn’t been there, it might have been a disaster for all three of us.
I didn’t tell Griswald any of this. I just drove while he talked.
“Let me do the talking since I’m the one who knows what’s going on,” he said.
I slid him a sideways look, wondering again why he was keeping his own cards close. “And whose fault is that? If you weren’t being so secretive about this whole thing—”
“It’s sensitive,” he interrupted. “And requires finesse.”
“He’s saying you lack finesse,” God whispered in my ear.
I wanted to tell the lizard that subtlety hadn’t been lost on me, but I didn’t think my human passenger would approve.
“Detective Mulligan seemed to really want me out of there,” I said carefully. That was the truth, but I wasn’t sure if it was my presence that had spooked the redhead or his misconception that the mob was behind my being there.
“We’ll work it out,” Griswald said with more confidence than I thought the situation required.
“Are you going to tell him that we’re going to kidnap a child?”
He let out an exasperated puff of air. “Don’t think of it as a kidnapping. Consider it to be a parental reunion.”
Pulling into the park, I found a spot and slid my car into it. Before I got out, I snapped the spare leash I keep in the car on the Doberman, then looked to Griswald to see if he had any other last minute instructions.
“You’ve got to do something with the lizard,” he said, narrowing his eyes at the little guy balanced on my shoulder. “We don’t want to draw attention.”
“Okay,” I agreed. Opening my door, I hopped out and then opened the rear.
“Geronimo!” God yelled, swan diving into my bra.
“Did you hear a squeak?” Griswald asked as he emerged from his side of the car.
“I. Do. Not. Squeak,” God bellowed from his hideaway.
I pasted on a smile to sell the lie and pointed at the nearby playground. “I think it’s the swings. They’re very squeaky.”
“Squeak!” DeeDee let out a high-pitched yelp, not wanting to be left out of the fun.
“Please,” I begged. “Just be a good dog.”
“Dog good,” she pledged.
I patted her head as a reward, but in that moment, she forgot her promise.
“Patrick! Patrick!” she barked excitedly, lunging toward the redhead who was approaching from across the parking lot.
She pulled so hard that the leash went whizzing out of my hand, leaving me with a friction burn around my wrist. I chased after her. “DeeDee stop! Come! Stop! Come back here!”
“Even if she wasn’t stymied by that canine excuse for a brain,” God drawled, his voice vibrating as I ran, “you’re asking the impossible. One can’t possibly stay and come back. It defies the laws of physics.”
I didn’t catch the dog, but Patrick Mulligan did as she threw her entire body at him. Thankfully, he wasn’t afraid and simply caught her in a bear hug…or in this case, a dog hug…and gently put her down.
“She’s probably expecting him to feed her,” God groused. �
��He always does. Never brings me anything. Not even a lowly mealworm. Only furry things get spoiled.”
I arrived beside them, breathless. Griswald was right behind me. He and Patrick shook hands while I tried to will away the painful stitch that was boring through my ribcage.
“You sound like a dirigible leaking air. You need to get more exercise,” God hissed so that only I could hear.
I frowned, not liking being compared to a deflating blimp.
“You shouldn’t do that to poor Maggie,” Patrick scolded the dog as he offered me the leash.
“At last the mangy mutt is being held accountable for her sheer stupidity,” God murmured with glee. “Instead of getting food, she’s being admonished.”
“Maggie sorry,” DeeDee apologized, pawing at my shin.
“It’s okay,” I excused as I searched Patrick’s expression. “Thanks for catching her.”
“No problem.” His face revealed nothing. His jaw was set, his gaze blank, almost glossy.
Not for the first time, I thought about how much his green eyes remind me of olives. My stomach growled hungrily at the thought.
Thankfully, no one seemed to hear.
I had no idea what he was thinking and that made me nervous. Deciding that Griswald was probably right and that the situation would be best served by remaining silent, I knelt down to pet the dog.
“You’re having her do undercover work for you?” Patrick asked Griswald. Disbelief and disapproval warred for superiority in his tone.
I couldn’t tell if he really meant it or was just doing a really good job of faking his dismay.
“Not for the Marshals,” Griswald hurried to assure him. “I’m doing some private work and Maggie is helping me out.”
The detective squinted at him suspiciously. “What kind of private work?”
Griswald lifted his chin proudly. “The kind that’s about doing right.”
The two men stared at one another for a long moment. I must admit that I was rooting for Patrick to win the silent battle. If only so that I wouldn’t have to return to the hellish game center.
“One. Two. Three,” Griswald counted slowly.
