by JB Lynn
“You’re welcome,” I countered dryly. “Get in.”
He climbed into the passenger seat and stared at the anole as though he’d never seen a lizard sitting on the dash of someone’s car before.
“How was my dinner?” I asked.
“Delicious. Susan may be a bitch, but she’s a hell of a cook.”
“Don’t call her that.”
He frowned at me. “Since when does it bother you what I call her?”
“Since I’ve come to the realization that she’s the reason your children ever had any sense of stability.” I met his gaze steadily, letting him know I meant what I was saying.
He looked away. “Stability is overrated. It’s a synonym for boring.”
I knew from the way God was flicking his tail that he didn’t like what my father was saying. I felt the same way, but did my best to keep my voice neutral.
“I’m here because I thought you should know the cops think you killed Kevin Belgard.”
“Arrow through the heart, wasn’t it? Couldn’t have happened to a nicer fella.”
I swallowed down the ball of anger rising in my throat. “The point is they think you killed a cop. That’s dangerous.”
“You asking me if I did it, Maggie May?”
“Nope,” I replied calmly. “I know you didn’t.”
He nodded, approving of what he thought was my faith in him.
I didn’t disabuse him of the notion. I took advantage of it. “Who’s the fifth tree for?”
I could tell my question startled him from the way he pressed himself deeper into his seat.
“W-what?” he spluttered nervously.
“Five trees,” I pointed at the row in front of us. “But as far as I know, you only have four kids.”
“The other is to represent the love of your mother and me.”
I might have believed him if he hadn’t added, “You know how we mean the world to each other.”
“But that’s not what you and Mom always said,” I countered quietly. “You said there was one for each of us girls.”
“And us, representing our holy union.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “No wonder you’re such a lousy conman. You’re one of the worst liars I know.”
“Remember who you’re speaking to young lady,” he said as though the man who’d always put his own wants and whims ahead of those of his family somehow deserved my respect just because he’d impregnated my mother.
If that was supposed to cow me, it failed. What it did do was pour gasoline on the resentment churning in my gut.
I now believe that spontaneous human combustion could be a real thing since I’m pretty sure flames shot from my mouth as I bellowed, “Who is the fifth tree for?”
Even God was startled by my outburst. Startled, he scurried away to the opposite end of the dashboard.
“I--” Dad began.
“Don’t!” I screamed, my voice bouncing off the car’s surfaces, echoing back at me. “Don’t you dare lie to me.”
My throat burned from the effort.
Dad stared at me with something that looked a lot like fear.
“Just tell me,” I urged, dropping my voice to just above a whisper as I pinned him to his seat with a glare. “I won’t be mad.”
“Ha!” God guffawed from his hiding place.
Dad shook his head.
“I deserve to know, Dad.”
His gaze ping-ponged between my face, to the trees, and back to my face again. It probably took him fifteen seconds to make his decision, but to me it felt like days as I held my breath, listening to my pulse pound in my ears.
“I’ve done a lot of things I regret,” he finally began. “But giving up that baby…”
I gasped, as he confirmed what I hadn’t wanted to believe.
He hesitated.
“Go on,” I choked out.
“I regret giving up my only son,” he continued.
I winced as he gave voice to my suspicion that he would have preferred a house full of boys.
He didn’t even notice he’d hurt me. “Worst mistake of my life. Well, except for--”
“Hands in the air!” a voice boomed authoritatively.
Startled, I did as instructed.
Dad, however, was slow to comply.
“The car is surrounded, put your hands in the air,” the voice ordered.
Looking around, I saw that a dozen uniformed police officers, guns drawn, had converged on my car.
“Put your hands up,” I said through gritted teeth. “Or are you trying to get us both killed?”
Finally he did as the voice ordered.
“Now put them on the dashboard, Archie,” the voice instructed.
Dad did as told.
I started to reach to do the same, but then put them back where I’d held them, feeling like I was playing a deadly game of Simon Says.
My door opened and I slid my gaze over in that direction.
“Step out, Maggie,” a familiar voice said calmly.
I looked into Detective Brian Griswald’s face.
“It’s going to be okay,” he reassured me. “Just get out of the car.”
“You turned me in?” My father’s hands left the dashboard as he twisted in his seat and grabbed my arm just above my wrist. “You turned me in?” His fingers bit cruelly into my flesh as he shook my arm.
“No,” I denied weakly, trying to shake him off me.
“How could you?” he raged.
“I didn’t,” I yelled back. “Let go of me!”
A uniformed cop yanked open my father’s door. “Break it up.”
But Dad had a death grip on me and was still ranting, “You’re worse than the rest of those bitches.”
Brian Griswald then reached past me and wrapped his hand around Dad’s windpipe. “Let her go,” he ordered with quiet menace.
Dad released me and Brian let go of him, immediately helping me out of the car.
“You okay?” Brian asked, watching as the officer hauled my father out of the car.
I nodded. “Am I in trouble?”
“For what?”
“I don’t know, harboring a fugitive or something?”
“Technically he’s not a fugitive, so you’re fine. Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?”
My arm pulsed with pain, but I didn’t let him know that. “No,” I lied, not wanting to be the reason my father was charged with battery.
It took three officers to hustle Dad over to the waiting squad car. The whole time he was spewing insults at me and the cops.
“He’s pissed,” Brian remarked mildly.
“He was pissed before you got here.”
“About what?”
I shook my head. “Family history.”
We watched the police cruiser with a red-faced Dad in the back drive away.
“What will happen now?” I asked.
“He’ll be interrogated and at the rate he’s going I won’t be surprised if he gets charged with resisting arrest or something.”
“How’d you find us?”
“Solid detective work.”
I had no idea what that meant, but I knew from his tone he wouldn’t be discussing it further.
“Go home, Maggie,” Brian recommended. “You look like hell.”
I felt worse.
Chapter Eighteen
My arm ached when I got back to the B&B. I knew I should ice it, but I didn’t want to have to contend with the questions that would be brought up if someone caught me icing it.
I decided the next best option would be to take some anti-inflammatory medication and hope for the best, but I couldn’t take that on an empty stomach, so I once again raided the fridge. I wasn’t hungry this time, so I just grabbed a yogurt from the bottom shelf.
When I turned around, I almost bumped into Angel.
“Hey you,” he said with a smile.
I couldn’t muster a grin in return, so I responded with a flat, “Hey.”
�
�What’s wrong?” His concern was immediate and genuine.
“Nothing.” Moving away from him, I reached for a spoon and sucked in a sharp breath as pain lanced through my arm.
“Are you hurt?” Angel reached for my arm.
“I’m fine,” I snapped, turning my back on him.
But then Loretta’s advice about accepting help echoed in my mind when God, tucked away in my bra, whispered, “Not on your own.”
I realized that I was reacting just like Susan would in the same situation. Shaking my head, I put down the yogurt and turned back to face him. “Sorry. I’m a big baby when it comes to pain.”
“What happened?”
Rather than answer, I rolled up my sleeve. My arm was already swelling and the faint imprint of fingers could still be seen.
Angel said something in Italian that I could tell was unpleasant.
“I should ice it, right?”
“Who did this to you?”
“It’s not important.”
“It is,” he insisted, staring down at me.
I shook my head and looked away, refusing to answer. I don’t know why I felt compelled to protect my dad, but I did.
Angel exhaled a puff of undisguised exasperation. “Will you at least let me examine you?”
I nodded and raised my arm in his direction.
He stepped closer, and gently cupped my elbow in his palm, while tenderly exploring the rest of the arm with his other hand.
Despite the fact that some spots were extremely tender, I gritted my teeth and did my best not to wince.
“I don’t think anything’s broken,” he announced finally. “Though you could have a fracture. Was there twisting involved?”
I tried to remember, but couldn’t. I shrugged.
Angel shook his head. “Yes, you should ice it for twenty minutes every three hours, rest it as much as you can for the next couple of days, pop some anti-inflammatory painkillers, and try to keep it elevated over your heart.”
To illustrate what he meant, he gently raised my arm, placing my hand against his shoulder. “Like this.”
I tried to ignore how warm and solid he felt beneath my palm. “Got it.”
“Sure you don’t want to tell me who did this? I’m an expert in the human body. I could put a world of hurt on them.”
“I thought you’re a healer,” I teased.
He shrugged.
Despite the pain, I could feel his muscles rippling beneath my fingers.
“Not everyone deserves to be healed. Especially anyone who would hurt a beautiful woman.”
I snatched my hand away before he could offer to kiss it and make it better. “Thanks for the advice.”
“Anywhere, anytime, any task. Nothing but excellence,” he pledged, repeating some Navy saying he was fond of.
I reached for my yogurt, but he grabbed it before me and pulled off the lid. “Not a one-handed job,” he explained before handing it to me.
“Thanks.” I got a spoon.
“Did you see your dad today?” he asked a little too casually.
That’s when I remembered he’d heard my father say he’d meet me at the trees. I put the yogurt down.
“Did you tell Detective Griswald where we’d be?” Fury made my tone sharp.
Angel took a step backward. “No.”
“But you were the only one there when he said where we’d meet,” I accused.
He met my gaze steadily. “At ‘the trees’? Am I supposed to know what that even means?”
“No one else heard him,” I repeated, trying to figure out if he was telling the truth.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened,” he suggested.
“I met my dad and the cops showed up to arrest him.”
“And you think I told the detective, who’s made it clear that he doesn’t think much of me, where to find you, after I didn’t mention his appearance at the sex store the other day?” Indignation made his voice crack at the end.
“Lingerie,” I corrected automatically.
“What?”
“The Corset is a lingerie shop, not a sex store.”
“My apologies,” he drawled sarcastically. “The point is that I don’t understand why you think I ratted you out.”
“Someone did,” I replied lamely.
“But it wasn’t me,” he insisted. “Is that how you got hurt? In a tussle with the cops?”
I shook my head and looked down, admitting softly, “My father was upset.”
I saw Angel’s hands curl into fists and I thought it was a lucky thing that my dad wasn't standing in the vicinity.
“He didn’t mean it,” I excused, closing my eyes as I heard how terrible that sounded.
Angel didn’t reply and when I opened my eyes, I found that he was gone. He’d just walked out.
Sighing, I picked up the yogurt and headed down to the basement.
“Gotta! Gotta!” DeeDee panted as greeting.
“Don’t jump on me,” I warned. “I hurt my arm.”
“What happened, sugar?” Piss mewled, climbing out from beneath the sofa.
“My father,” I admitted with a heavy sigh as I walked over to the storm doors to let the dog outside.
“Where’s the pompous one?” the cat asked.
“Oh crap!” I ran up the cellar stairs almost as quickly as DeeDee had, and sprinted toward the car. I was never going to live this one down.
“I’m sorry,” I gasped as I threw open the car door. “I’m so sorry.”
God was sitting on the center of the dashboard. “I could have frozen to death.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. “If I’d left you out overnight, but the good news is I didn’t.” I scooped him off the dash and carried him in my palm back toward the house.
“I have frostbite. Hypothermia. I saw my life flash before my eyes.”
While I knew he was being overly dramatic, I didn’t call him on it since I felt guilty for forgetting him.
When I didn’t argue with him, he considered me for a long moment before asking, “How’s your arm?”
“It hurts,” I admitted. I didn’t tell him that Angel had instructed me to ice it for fear that any mention of cold might re-traumatize him.
“Archie shouldn’t have done that.” God sounded almost as upset as Angel.
“Hurt Maggie?” DeeDee asked, falling into step beside me as I headed back to the basement.
“A little. Nothing to worry about,” I assured her.
“Hurt who Maggie?” she panted indignantly.
“Her father,” God answered.
“But he didn’t mean it,” I told them both as I marched down the stairs.
“Who didn’t mean what?” Piss purred curiously.
“My father didn’t mean to hurt me.”
She arched her back. “That’s what my last human said.”
“Anyway,” I said quickly, trying to change the subject before my pets decided to band together and attack my dad. “Angel says he didn’t tell Brian Griswald where to find us, but I can’t figure out who else it could have been.”
“What did the detective say?” God asked.
“That it was solid detective work.”
“So he didn’t say it was a confidential informant?”
I shook my head.
“Then maybe it really was detective work.”
“Maybe.” I put him in his terrarium. “I think Angel is angry with me.”
“What for?”
“Accusing him. Protecting my dad. You name it.”
Instead of telling me not to worry about it, or providing some advice about how to defuse the situation with the manny, the lizard curled up under his driftwood and ignored me.
Piss too gave me the cold shoulder, retreating to her favorite hiding spot under the couch.
Only the dog remained loyal, watching me expectantly.
