The Hitwoman and the Sacrificial Lamb: Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman Book 12

by JB Lynn

  I hit the brake pedal, startled. “What?”

  He kept squeaking.

  “You know I can’t understand you.”

  He puffed out the orange flap of skin beneath his chin to indicate his frustration before whirling back to watch the disappearing back of Corrine Belgard.

  I eased off the brake and resumed following her. A moment later, realization dawned. “Ohhhhh.”

  God shot me an annoyed look.

  “You thought I could understand you since I said she wasn’t a suspect.” I chuckled. “That was just because I know you like to correct me.”

  Corrine ducked into a diner that had seen better days. I parked my car down the street. When she didn’t come out, I said, “Let’s go see what she’s up to.”

  He hesitated, but I had no way of knowing whether that was because he thought it was a bad idea to follow her inside, or if he was just sulking because of the communication mix-up.

  Still, eventually he ran from my shoulder and dove into my bra.

  I took my time walking into the diner, trying to figure out exactly what my approach would be. When I stepped inside, I saw that she was working behind the counter, so I slid onto one of the stools.

  She glanced over at me. “Help you, hon?”

  “Cup of coffee, please.”

  “Anything else?”

  I started to shake my head, but then my inner sugar-addict got the best of me. “An almond horn.”

  She nodded, a slight smile playing at her lips. “Excellent choice.”

  A moment later she slid the pastry and my coffee in front of me. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” Needing to engage her in small talk, I blurted out, “You look familiar.”

  Scowl lines formed at the corners of her mouth and she glanced around furtively.

  Realizing that I’d managed to scare her, I hurried to add, “Like that woman from that show about the cruise ship.”

  She relaxed a bit, and self-consciously smoothed her hair.

  Realizing that appealing to her vanity was the way to go, I continued, “Were you an actress, or model, or something?”

  She shook her head sadly. “Just a housewife and now this.” She waved an arm to encompass the diner. “I’m not exactly living a glamorous life.”

  I nodded, making a sympathetic noise. “Life doesn’t always turn out the way we hoped, does it? Dreams get shattered. Prince Charming turns into a dork.”

  She laughed harshly. “More like Prince Charming turns into a dick.”

  “Tell me about it,” I invited, hoping I sounded relaxed when I was excited about learning something about Belgard.

  She sighed. “You know. You marry a guy thinking he’s one thing and he turns out to be something else.”

  I made a show of sipping my coffee, silently encouraging her to continue.

  “Take my ex. He’s got a charming persona, best buddy to everyone, but privately…he can be one nasty son-of-a-bitch.”

  “I dated a guy like that,” I confided. “Everyone loved him, but he had a mean streak.” I thought about how Paul Kowalski had fooled everyone and tried to kill me. Twice. I clutched my coffee cup tighter and I let my voice shake with the remembered terror. “It was hard to get away from him.”

  The waitress patted my arm reassuringly. “But you did.”

  I certainly had. He’d been in a shootout with Patrick (who was working as a cop at that moment) and U.S. Marshal Griswald. I didn’t tell her that. “But he has a lot of friends and I worry he’ll retaliate through them.”

  Belgard’s ex-wife narrowed her gaze. “What kind of friends?”

  Leaning closer I whispered, “He’s a cop.”

  She grimaced. “I know what that’s like. Always watching in the rearview mirror when a patrol car pulls up behind you. Having your heart in your throat when a uniform shows up where you work.”

  “Your ex is a cop too?”

  She nodded curtly, her lips pressed into a hard line.

  “So you understand.” I sank back in my seat, feigning relief.

  She nodded.

  “How do you deal with it?”

  Shaking her head, she took out her order pad and scribbled on it. I thought maybe I’d pushed her too far.

  I forced myself to take a bite of the almond horn.

  “I gave him what he wanted,” she said sadly.

  I took my time chewing and swallowing before I asked, “Which was what?”

  She shrugged helplessly. “The house. The lifestyle. Freedom.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I gave him the best years of my life and ended up with nothing.”

  Guilt gnawed at my gut. What right did I have to stir up all these memories and emotions? I reached out and patted her arm, offering the same comfort she’d given me. “Maybe the best years of your life are ahead of you.”

  She looked down and a fat teardrop splashed on her order pad.

  “You’re better off without him,” I tried again. “You’re lucky to be free of a jerk who didn’t appreciate you.”

  She nodded, but didn’t look up.

  “And he probably bullied you into doing things his way. Now you can do things your way.”

  She raised her gaze to meet mine. I was relieved to see a spark of anger shining in her eyes. “I can.”

  I nodded encouragingly. “What didn’t you like about him? Tell me. Get it out of your system.”

  She glanced around at the near-empty establishment. “Let me refill that guy first. Be right back.”

  She hustled over to the other patron, coffee pot in hand.

  I ate more of my pastry and fought the urge to check the time. I knew that this conversation was going to make me late for the meeting with Aunt Susan, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to learn more about Kevin Belgard.

  His ex hurried back over to me. Leaning her elbows on the counter, she began to list a litany of complaints.

  “He insisted the toothpaste be squeezed from the bottom of the tube.”

  “You can squeeze it anywhere you like,” I replied with a small smile.

  “He kept his clothes color-coded. Even his underwear.”

  I nodded, hoping she had better stuff to share than this.

  “He’d never call when he was going to be late. He’d disappear for days without explanation.”

  Thinking of Patrick, I rolled my eyes. “Did he do that often?”

  “Once a month or so.”

  I frowned, wondering where Belgard had disappeared.

  His ex-wife thought that the frown was my sympathizing with her. Encouraged, she leaned closer and confided, “He watched other women.”

  I winced.

  “Girls really,” she elaborated.

  My heart thundered in my ears. Was this the information I needed? I forced myself to sound calm. “How do you know he was watching them?”

  “Because he’d do it from our bedroom window. Took out his binoculars and watched the girls on the next street over.”

  I clenched my fists, hidden beneath the counter, trying to maintain a semblance of control. Hearing that Belgard had stalked my family made me want to throw up the almond horn I’d just eaten. Instead, I forced myself to keep breathing.

  His ex, oblivious to my distress, warmed to the subject. “He’d watch them for hours if they were in their backyard.”

  Bile rose in my throat, burning the sensitive skin. “How often?” I choked out.

  “Oh, every day. Every night.”

  “And no one knew?” I hadn’t known. Had never felt his gaze upon me as I’d hung out in the safety of the backyard of the B&B.

  “I knew,” she pouted.

  “And you didn’t stop him?” I was unable to keep the outrage from my tone.

  She reared back defensively. “Stop him? How? By reporting to the police that my husband was a Peeping Tom with a badge?”

  Hanging my head, I sucked in a breath, trying to get control of myself. I’d gained her trust, I couldn’t blow this opportunity to gather
info. “Sorry,” I apologized with a shrug. “I can’t imagine how difficult that had to be for you.”

  She relaxed. “You have no idea.”

  "How did you get away from him?"

  She shrugged. "He got distracted. He got into some trouble with some people he worked with, and was more worried about them than what I was doing."

  "Lucky for you."

  "While he was concerned with his business, I just slipped away."

  "How long ago was that?" I held my breath waiting for her answer.

  "I don't know. Ten, maybe fifteen, years ago."

  I forced myself to breathe. That meant that Darlene had disappeared around the time of Belgard’s distraction. I didn't feel as though I could push her for more specifics, without scaring her off. "So you left town and never looked back?"

  I knew the answer to that question, but I wanted to see how honest her other answers had been.

  She shook her head. "No, I just moved across town. He's still in the house that we shared together."

  "That must be tough."

  She nodded. "In the beginning, he had all his friends on the force watching me, but over time he must've decided that I wasn't a threat."

  "A threat?" I tried not to sound too curious, but I wondered what she had on her ex-husband.

  I could tell from the way she pressed her lips together, that she thought she'd said too much. I tried not to let the disappointment show on my face.

  My cell phone buzzed. I knew the caller would be Aunt Susan wanting to know where I was. I fumbled for my wallet, and tossed a ten-dollar bill on the counter. "I've got to run. It was nice talking to you."

  "Hope to see you again soon," she called, as I hurried out of the diner, the last of the almond horn clutched in my hand. Even though I was running late was no reason to sacrifice my carbs.

  A yellow flier had been stuck under my windshield wiper.

  Annoyed, I ripped it off. “Distributing these things should be considered littering,” I muttered. I glanced at it quickly, ready to crumple it into a ball.

  It wasn’t covered with an advertisement, only a single handwritten sentence was scrawled across it.

  “Curiosity killed the cat,” I read aloud.

  That sounded ominous. I glanced around nervously, worried that someone was watching me, but I didn’t spot anyone.

  Chapter Twelve

  I got into the car and immediately locked the doors. “What do you think?” I asked God. “Was that some sort of warning or was it just some random crazy person leaving nutty notes?”

  He squeaked, but, of course, I couldn’t understand him. Instead of reminding him of that, I bit off a chewy chunk of my pastry and popped the car into gear.

  I drove across town with the mindset the traffic laws were more guidelines than actual rules. I finished my snack before we arrived.

  "If you really don't like one of the therapists," I said to the lizard tucked in my bra, "say something. I may not be able to understand what you say, but I'll get the message."

  The lizard squeaked in response.

  Since I didn't know whether he was agreeing with me, or suggesting that I should trust my own judgment about the therapists, I didn't say anything else.

  I jumped out of the car when I arrived at the two-story brick building where the interviews were supposed to take place. I fought the urge to put my hand on the hood of Susan's car, to judge how long she'd been waiting. Instead, I hurried into the building, and ran up a flight of stairs, so that by the time I reached the office, I was slightly out of breath.

  When I got there, Susan was talking to a stern-looking woman, with a gray-flecked no-nonsense hairstyle, sensible shoes, and what looked to be a permanent frown.

  "Here she is," Susan said with a forced smile. "Miss Tartan meet Margaret. Margaret, this is Miss Tartan, one of the candidates I was telling you about."

  I extended my hand. "Nice to meet you. Sorry I was late."

  She pressed her palm to mine, in the weakest semblance of a handshake. "Do you make it a practice?"

  "A practice?"

  "Of being late.” Her disapproval was colder than a blast of air conditioning on a hot summer day.

  I grit my teeth, trying not to say something I’d later regret.

  Before I could respond, Aunt Susan interjected, "Margaret…” She paused for a long moment.

  I braced myself for whatever she was going to say next.

  “Runs herself ragged," she continued. “She’s working two jobs, and doing her best to provide a good home for her niece.”

  I blinked my surprise.

  Miss Tartan didn't seem impressed.

  "Maybe we should sit down for the interview," I suggested.

  "Don't bother," Susan said forcefully.

  I winced. "You've already done it?"

  "I already know that Miss Tartan isn't a match. There's no point in wasting anyone's time conducting an interview."

  Miss Tartan’s scowl deepened. "I assure you, I'm qualified for this job."

  "But you're not the personality we’re looking for," Susan countered. "Now, if you'll go, we can get on with interviewing the other candidates. Thank you for your time." To underline her point, she walked over to the door, and opened it, ushering the other woman out.

  Once she'd closed it, I asked, “What did I miss?"

  Susan shrugged. "Katie won't do well around someone who has that kind of energy."

  A smile tugged at my mouth.

  "What?" Susan asked.

  "You sound a little like Leslie, talking about people's energy.”

  Susan's eyebrows knit together as she considered that. I expected her to be unhappy with the comparison, but she surprised me again by chuckling. “My sister isn't wrong about everything, just most things."

  I giggled a little at that. "Is there really another candidate waiting?"

  She shook her head. "Angel’s buddy, Ronnie, had the second slot, but had car trouble." She glanced at her watch. "The other woman who we’re interviewing won’t be here for another few minutes. Have a seat," Susan suggested, pointing to a row of office chairs. "I have something I want to talk to you about."

  Feeling like a five year old who was about to be chastised, I grudgingly sank into one of the seats.

  Susan, however, did not sit down. She began to pace the length of the room nervously.

  "It might be easier if you just said it," I suggested.

  "This isn't easy."

  The fact that she was avoiding eye contact made me anxious. Was she ill? Was she going to kick Katie and I out of the B&B? Had she somehow found out about my work for Delveccio?

  I waited, afraid to speak, suddenly terrified of the words that could come out of her mouth.

  Finally, her gaze met mine. "It's about your mother."

  I rocked back in my chair. That wasn't a scenario I even considered. "What about her? Did she escape again?"

  My aunt shook her head.

  "Is she sick?"

  "Oh no, dear. Nothing like that."

  I relaxed a little. If she wasn't dying, and was still in the facility, things couldn't be that bad.

  "I hate to tell you this when you have so many other things to worry about." Susan interlocked her fingers, squeezing her hands together so tightly I saw her knuckles turn white. "I haven't even told the twins."

  Intrigued, that she hadn't told her sisters, I leaned forward. "You can tell me. I promise I won't tell anyone."

  She nodded, and looked away again.

  I waited, wondering what it was she was wrestling with, and why she'd chosen to confide in me. "Does Griswald know?"

  She shook her head.

  Standing up, I walked over to her, put my hands on her arms, and shook her gently. "Whatever it is that is stressing you out, could make you sick. Tell me. Maybe I can help."

  Tears filled her eyes. "I'm so sorry Margaret." She took in a deep shuddering breath. "Your mother may need to go to another facility."

  I let that s
ink in for a moment.

  "Some of my investments haven't been paying the best dividends lately. I'm worried I won't be able to continue making the payments."