by JB Lynn
I looked up at him. “Because he killed a cop?”
Delveccio leaned closer. “I thought you had a beef with Belgard.”
“I do. I did.”
“Yeah, well he might have deserved what he got, but Fern didn’t.”
“Fern?” I’d been following the coverage about the Cupid Killer, specifically the stories by crime reporter Jack Stern, who’d shown up at the B&B’s door about five minutes after the call had gone out on the police radio that Belgard’s body had been discovered. He hadn’t written about any female victims.
“Fernando Cardinale. Old friend. Salt of the earth guy.”
“The restaurant owner?”
Delveccio nodded approvingly. “Good to see you stay up on the biz.”
I didn’t tell him that I’d witnessed Cupid murdering his old friend. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
The mobster squinted at me. “You say the damnedest things.”
I shrugged. “You said your old friend died. I conveyed my condolences.”
“He didn’t die.” Delveccio said the last word as though I’d insulted his mother. “He was executed.”
I nodded, knowing what he said was true.
“I want that Cupid guy buried. And soon.” He pushed his half-eaten treat away, as though the conversation had ruined his appetite.
“Why?” I asked.
“Why?” He leaned back and drew himself up to his full height, giving me a look that could freeze running lava. “Because I said so.”
I shook my head. “Why was your friend executed?”
Delveccio’s posture deflated. “Damned if I know. Fern was a friend to all. Smart, honest businessman. Philanthropist. He didn’t have an enemy in the world.”
“Except someone wanted him dead,” I reminded him.
He scowled. “What does it matter, the why?”
“Because if I knew who wanted him,” I hesitated, “…dealt with, I should be able to find Cupid.”
The mob boss considered that for a moment. "I honestly couldn't tell you."
"Then the job may take me a little while."
He nodded his understanding. "In the meantime, since you said you need it, I have another job for you."
"Great.”
"How do you feel about being a mule?"
“You’re already an ass," God whispered from the depths of my bra.
Delveccio made a funny face. "Are you carrying around that lizard again?"
"I thought Dominic might want to see him," I lied smoothly.
"Good thinking. Now about this mule thing--"
"I'm sorry, I'm not following."
"Courier," he explained. "I need a courier with your special skills."
I had no idea what special skills he thought I possessed, but I wasn't about to tell him that.
"You'll be given a package, a recipient, and the delivery will be time-sensitive." He twirled his pinky ring. "Think you are up to that?"
I nodded, despite not knowing whether that was the truth. "You can count on me."
"I always do. Now go take that lizard to see my grandson while I finish your pudding.”
I left him with the sweets and hustled back to the room. Gino was watching the kids play, which meant reaching into my bra and pulling out the lizard was a tad bit awkward. The bodyguard raised his eyebrows, but thankfully remained silent.
"Look who I brought to see you," I said to the little boy.
Dominic's eyes lit up. "Godzilla!"
For his part, the lizard kept the children amused with his antics, jumping and scurrying about, as though he didn't have a care in the world. I was both entertained and surprised since the behavior was so out of character for him.
When Katie and Dominic started to look tired I announced it was time for us to go home. Neither protested and Katie fell asleep about 30 seconds after I'd buckled her into her car seat.
Her nap on the drive home revived her, and when we returned to the bed and breakfast she was more than willing to help Aunt Leslie with an arts-and-crafts project that had something to do with buttons.
That left U.S. Marshal Lawrence Griswald and I alone in the kitchen together.
"I don't suppose you've heard from your father?" the Marshal asked.
I shook my head. "I'm sorry, but I haven't."
Griswald shook his head sadly.
"I'm really sorry," I said.
"We've been over this before. There's no reason for you to apologize."
But we both knew there was. I had asked him to put me in contact with my father, who was in the Witness Protection Program, because I had questions regarding the disappearance of my sister Darlene. Griswald, being a decent guy, had arranged the meeting. My dad, Archie Lee, a lifelong criminal, had repaid his generosity by knocking him unconscious and disappearing.
I couldn't speak for Griswald, but I was pretty pissed. Once again, my dad had taken off, doing what was best for him, consequences be damned.
An awkward silence filled the kitchen.
"He's just unfinished business," Griswald said finally. "That's why I keep asking. Because I want to wrap things up."
"What are you wrapping up?" Aunt Susan asked, gliding into the kitchen.
"This and that," Griswald replied smoothly. Like me, he knew that any mention of my father would put Susan into an instant bad mood.
"Angel is looking for you," Susan told me. "He's in the backyard."
Grateful for the chance to escape, I murmured my thanks and dashed out the door.
I was sort of sorry I did when I saw him scowling at the storm door that led to the basement. Arms crossed against his chest, stretching his U.S. Navy t-shirt to the point where it looked like the seams might split at any moment, he did not look happy.
I considered ducking back inside and avoiding whatever it was he wanted to talk to me about, but before I could make up my mind he looked over at me.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” I said back. “Susan said you wanted to talk.”
He beckoned for me to join him in his perusal of the door. “We need to do something about this.”
“This?”
“We’ve got to secure this door.”
“I use that door,” I reminded him, walking over to stand beside him. “It’s fine the way it is.”
“It’s not.”
“It’s how I let DeeDee out.” I didn’t add that it was how Patrick Mulligan sometimes let himself in, though he hadn’t done that in a while.
“It’s not safe.” Angel turned to look down at me. “Or have you forgotten that a man was murdered in this very backyard?”
“I had nothing to do with that,” I replied a tad too quickly.
Angel raised his eyebrows. “No one thinks you did.”
I glanced toward the kitchen door and then whispered, “I think Griswald thinks I might have.”
Angel shook his head. “No, but he suspects your father might have been involved.” He watched me closely as he delivered that nugget of information.
I’m pretty sure my mouth dropped open. “He does? How do you know?”
“I overheard him talking to his nephew.” I knew he was talking about Detective Brian Griswald, but what I didn't know was why he said “nephew” like he hated him. Was it because Brian's a cop and Angel’s from an organized crime family, or was there something personal between the two men?
“It wasn’t my dad,” I said.
Something that looked a lot like sympathy passed over Angel’s face.
“It wasn’t,” I repeated with conviction.
“You can’t know that,” Angel said quietly.
I couldn’t very well tell him that I’d witnessed the Cupid Killer in action and he definitely wasn’t my father. He’s a chubby guy with a penchant for wearing red.
“Sometimes people surprise us. Disappoint us.” Angel had a far-off look in his eyes and his shoulders were tense.
I got the impression he was no longer talking about my father, but about someone who�
��d let him down.
“Everything okay?” I asked carefully.
He shook his head, like a wet dog after a bath, and when he spoke again, he was completely in the moment. “We’ve got to do something about the door.”
“No,” I said firmly.
“No? What if someone were to sneak into the basement?”
“DeeDee would bite them.”
Angel rolled his eyes, letting me know he didn’t think the Doberman offered much protection. He’d never seen the dog in her protective mode. Even I thought she looked scary when she was like that.
“She’s tougher than she looks,” I assured him.
“It’s not safe, Maggie.”
“I’m not going to let you lock me up in there.”
“No one’s talking about locking you up. I’m just suggesting that it might be prudent to make an effort to keep certain people out.”
“Like my father?”
He shrugged. “He sounds like trouble.”
“He is,” I muttered. “And a locked door won’t keep him away.”
“Why are you trying to keep Daddy away?” a voice asked.
Angel and I spun around to find its source. My sister, Marlene, was frowning at me the same way she used to right before she’d throw a full-blown temper tantrum.
“I’m not,” I soothed. “We were just discussing home security since we did find a murder victim in the backyard.”
An emotion I couldn’t identify flickered in Marlene’s eyes. It made me wonder if she’d had dealings with Belgard during her time as a working girl, or if perhaps she somehow knew he was mixed up in her twin’s disappearance.
I wanted to ask her, but not in front of Angel.
“I’ve got a date,” she announced.
I blinked at the non sequitur and replied lamely, “That’s nice.”
“I’m going to be late.” She held my gaze, an unspoken challenge in her tone.
I didn’t know what she was on edge about, but it had been a long day and I was tired. I wanted no part of whatever it was she wanted to fight about. “Don’t let us keep you.”
She scowled at me again before flouncing inside.
“What was that about?” Angel asked.
I shook my head. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
Chapter Five
I unlocked the door of The Corset noting that the handwritten sign explaining our new, abridged hours was in danger of falling off.
I shivered against the cold. We’d had an unseasonably warm fall and winter, but the weather forecast was finally calling for snow.
I could see my breath even when I was inside the shop.
“Please don’t let the furnace be broken,” I muttered. That’s all I’d need, to call in a heating guy on top of everything else.
Heading into the back, I fiddled with the thermostat until the heat kicked on. “Small miracles.”
I was already behind on paperwork and the rows were looking like a roving band of third graders had ransacked the shelves and racks. I sighed as I looked at the mess. Aunt Loretta was counting on me to keep her business afloat during her recuperation and I was doing a lousy job of it. Retail was not my forte.
“Don’t look so blue. It isn’t a good color on you,” a male voice observed from the shadows.
“Aaaaah!” I screamed, momentarily forgetting that I’m a semi-trained assassin. I grabbed the nearest weapon at hand, which happened to be a red plastic devil’s pitchfork, and brandished it at the intruder menacingly.
He began to laugh. Great bellowing gales of laughter bounced off the shop’s walls.
I lowered the pitchfork when I recognized the laughter. “Dad?”
“Oh Maggie May,” he said, stepping out of the shadows and wiping a mirthful tear from the corner of his eye, “if you could have seen yourself.”
I glared at him, angry that he had the gall to laugh at me when he’d scared me half to death. Then I remembered that I was really pissed that he’d attacked Griswald in order to duck out of protective custody.
I threw the damn pitchfork right at his chuckling face.
“Ow!”
The plastic clattered to the floor.
“What did you do that for?” He rubbed his mouth where the weapon had bounced off him. “I’m going to end up with a fat lip.”
“You deserve a lot worse. What the hell are you doing here?”
My dad managed to look as though he was the wronged party in our exchange. “I wanted to see you.”
“Why? What do you want from me now?”
He blinked, and I could tell I’d genuinely hurt him with that question.
“I was worried about you, Maggie May,” he said quietly.
“You shaved.”
He used to look like a benevolent Santa Claus. He looked different without his white beard. I squinted at him, noticing that he had the remnants of a shiner under his left eye.
“Who’s after you?” I asked suspiciously.
“Besides the Marshal Service?”
“What were you thinking, attacking Marshal Griswald like that?”
My father shrugged. “That I had to get out of there.”
“He was doing me a favor, a big favor, by letting me talk to you and you repaid his generosity by being a selfish jerk.” I picked up another pitchfork and waved it at him. “And now you walk in here, claiming to care about my well-being? You don’t care about anyone except yourself.”
He turned an interesting shade of red, but I didn’t know if it was because he was angry or embarrassed. “That’s not true.”
“Right,” I bellowed. “I forgot you love--”
“Everything okay, Maggie?” Angel interrupted.
I’d been so focused on giving both barrels to my father that I hadn’t even noticed him come in. Now he was standing there, bulging biceps surrounded by a sea of lace thongs, watching me like he thought he might need to drag me over to share a room with my mom in the loony bin.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I snarled.
“Susan thought you might be hungry.” He held up an insulated bag to prove he came bearing food. “The door was unlocked and I heard voices so…”
“Who the hell are you?” Dad demanded.
Angel seemed like a pretty even-tempered guy, but apparently Archie Lee’s tone rubbed him the wrong way. He balled his free hand into a fist and took a step closer to my father, looking as though he’d like nothing better than to pound him into the ground. “Who are you?” he asked with a deceptive softness that was far more intimidating than a shout would have been.
At heart, my father is a pacifist…or maybe a chickenshit…either way, his true nature took over and he stumbled backward trying to get away from Angel. In his haste, he tripped over the bottom of the closest rack and fell flat on his butt. The rack toppled too, covering him with a pile of feathered boas.
“He’s my father,” I admitted, moving closer to help my dad off the floor.
When I reached for him though, Angel grabbed my arm, ensuring I couldn’t reach Dad.
“Don’t,” Angel said quietly.
I looked up at him, but he was looking at the man flailing around on the floor.
“Why not?” I asked more curiously.
“Sometimes the only way to save yourself is to stop trying to save everyone else.” There was a certain resigned sadness in Angel’s voice.
“Who says I need saving?” I shook free of his grip, but made no move to assist my father, who’d managed to get himself onto his hands and knees.
Angel flicked his gaze from the floor to my face. His Adam’s apple bobbed as though he’d just swallowed most of what he wanted to say. “Does Larry know he’s here?”
“I didn’t know he was here until a couple of minutes ago,” I retorted.
“Larry?” Dad boomed from the floor. “As in Lawrence? Lawrence Griswald?”
“Yes,” I said without looking away from Angel. I’d never seen him like this, tense, angry, ready to spring.
Dad scrambled to his feet. “Who is this punk that he knows Griswald?”
