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

by JB Lynn

  I watched a string of family members that I’d watched on the news approach the place the killer of their loved ones would face justice. Some were stoic. Others sobbing. All grieving for lives cut too short.

  I knew how that felt.

  But the longer I stood there, giving away free pieces of meat, I started to feel that the plan would never work.

  An opinion that grew stronger when I saw leather-coated crime reporter Jack Stern marching toward me. Forgetting that my face was covered by the stifling mask, I turned away from him.

  “Hold your position,” God ordered from his spot on the ground a few feet away. “Hold your position, soldier. If this line yields, the battle is lost.”

  So I stood there as Jack made a beeline for me.

  I struggled to come up with a plausible reason for me to be there, dressed as a lamb ready for slaughter, but couldn’t come up with anything.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Jack said as he reached me.

  I was so surprised that I was rendered speechless, which was fortuitous.

  “I’m starving,” Jack continued, grabbing a handful of samples from my tray. “Absolutely ravenous. Thanks.” He winked at me before heading for the courthouse.

  Actually, he winked at a lamb.

  I watched as he went inside instead of joining the gaggle of other reporters who had convened to document the arrival of the sniper. No doubt Jack was angling for the best seat in the courtroom, but if I was successful his efforts would have been wasted.

  “Look sharp,” God yelled. “They’re here.”

  Sure enough, a contingent of police officers, a mixture of uniformed officers and men in sports coats, including my favorite redhead, marched toward the courthouse entrance. I focused on my target, Lamb, in the center of the scrum.

  He didn’t look scary in person. Dressed in a suit, he looked more like a respectable businessman than an accused killer.

  “Charge!” God bellowed. “Charge, troops!”

  Obeying his command, Piss came racing down the sidewalk, yowling and hissing as though the hounds of hell were after her.

  There was confusion as people jumped out of her way.

  DeeDee raced after her, a few paces behind, snarling and barking like she was channeling her inner rabid Saint Bernard.

  People screamed and ran.

  “Flank them. Drive them in for the kill!” God managed to shout above the chaos.

  “Who’s them?” I muttered while stumbling in the direction of Lamb, my nearly empty tray of food clutched in my fuzzy white hand.

  The cat ran right through the sniper’s legs, causing him to stumble out of the protective crowd of police.

  The dog jumped between him and the cops, further cutting him off. But I was too far away to do any damage to Lamb.

  This was it. The opportunity. The big moment.

  I saw a flash of panic in Patrick’s eyes as he realized our plan wasn’t going to work. I knew that feeling too.

  I tend to miss the big moments, the great opportunities in life. Some might call it bad luck. Some might call it a lack of engagement. Some might just say I’m a loser.

  I stood frozen, unsure of what to do.

  “Circle back, Piss,” God ordered. “Jump into the fray.”

  The cat is a scrapper filled with a fighting spirit, despite having a bad eye and missing an ear. She leapt back into the crowd, the dog nipping at her heels, causing a comical domino effect.

  The cop nearest DeeDee jumped back, which sent the guy next to him stumbling, which resulted in another cop falling down.

  That’s when Lamb decided to make his escape. He grabbed a gun from one cop, vaulted over another, and took off at a dead run despite the fact his hands were handcuffed in front of him. He glanced behind him to gauge where his pursuers were. It didn’t take much for me to “accidentally stumble” into his escape path.

  He ran smack into me.

  He hit me so hard that we both fell to the ground, his body covering mine. I’m pretty sure I saw a cloud of peanut butter powder envelope us.

  “Hoisted by his own petard!!!” God shouted victoriously.

  Lamb scrambled off of me, desperate to elude the cops, including Patrick, who were giving chase.

  While they did that and the crowd watched in fascination, I picked myself up and ran across the street to the barbecue restaurant. A perfectly logical place for someone who’d been hawking the wares of said establishment to retreat to.

  I ducked into the restroom, which was near the entrance, changed out of the lamb costume, and stuffed it into the folding bag God had insisted I carry to remove the evidence.

  Except for some tell-tale sweat stains under my arms, I was in the clear. I headed out of the restroom with the bag tucked under my arm. I heard a lot of sirens wailing, so I forced myself to move slowly, so as not to attract attention.

  “You can’t kill me,” a man said.

  For a brief moment I thought maybe it was Lamb, but when I turned in the direction of the voice, I saw, through the leaves of a potted plant, an older man backing up.

  “It’s just business,” another man said.

  I heard a slight whistling noise, a soft thud, and then the sound of a body falling to the floor.

  Moving closer to the plant to see what had happened, I spotted a chubby guy, dressed in head-to-toe red standing over the older man. An arrow stuck out of the older man’s chest and the guy in red, clutched a bow.

  I sucked in a breath, realizing I’d just witnessed a murder.

  But I knew that I couldn’t do anything about it, not without endangering everything I held dear.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  I didn’t tell anyone, except my pets, about the murder I’d witnessed, but I did watch a story about it on the evening news.

  The piece ran right after the lead story about Lamb’s “daring” escape attempt that ended tragically according to “exclusive” eyewitnesses. Seen clutching his throat, he’d stumbled into the path of a speeding semi.

  “Daring escape?” God scoffed. “More like a daring hit.”

  Piss hissed, warning him to be quiet so that we could hear the rest of the story.

  There wasn’t much else to report except that, understandably, people were more concerned about the well-being of the truck driver who’d hit him, than they were about the deadly sniper. Most of the family members were grateful they could now get on with grieving.

  I wasn’t happy that he was dead. I took no satisfaction in a job well done. I was just relieved that the families had some closure and that I had one less thing on my To Do list.

  The reporters had hit the jackpot considering they got to cover two deaths from the same street corner.

  According to the news, the man I’d seen murdered was a well-respected businessman by the name of Fernando Cardinale, owner of the Portuguese barbecue restaurant.

  “That’s him,” I pointed out.

  “Investigators have no clues, but urge anyone with information to come forward.”

  “That’s you,” God pointed out.

  I ignored him and instead took DeeDee for a walk. I made a point of dragging her in the opposite direction than Belgard’s house.

  She cocked her head to the side. “Why?”

  “Because I’ve had enough unpleasant run-ins today.”

  “Okay.” She happily pulled me along in a different direction, sniffing the grass and air as she went.

  While we walked I thought about what the next couple of days would be like. I’d have to enroll Katie in school, work extra hours at The Corset while Loretta was out of commission, and generally try to keep things calm on the home front. Something that might prove impossible once certain family members found out my dad was on the loose again.

  Suddenly DeeDee almost knocked me off my feet as she lunged forward.

  “Hey!” I complained, fighting to remain upright.

  “Patrick! Patrick!” she barked excitedly.

  Looking up ahead, I sa
w the redhead leaning against a lamppost, his hands tucked behind him.

  “Hey, Mags,” he said as we drew closer.

  “Hey.”

  “Nice work today.” He knelt down so that he was eye level with the dog. “And you, sweetheart, you did an amazing job.” He kissed her snout.

  “Hungry,” she panted.

  As though he understood her, he brought his hands forward and tossed her a piece of raw steak.

  I tried not to be jealous that the dog got steak and all I got was a lousy bar of soap.

  Patrick grew serious. “The game’s changed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Belgard’s ex-wife was killed.”

  My heartbeat stuttered. “I talked to her. He knew that I’d talked to her.”

  Patrick nodded.

  I covered my mouth with my palm as a terrible thought occurred to me. “She’s dead because of me?”

  “You can’t know that,” Patrick soothed.

  I shook my head. I knew it. I’d gotten Belgard’s ex killed.

  I swayed weakly as guilt and fear warred for dominance within me.

  Patrick pulled me into his arms, steadying me, offering comfort.

  His familiar cologne was a balm to my senses and I snuggled closer.

  “You can’t blame yourself. It wasn’t your fault. Blame him. He, or someone else, did this, not you, but,” Patrick said quietly, “you need to stay far away from him.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You have to unless you want to put your entire family in deadly danger.”

  “I can’t find Darlene without him!” I pouted unreasonably. “He’s my chance, my one chance, my only chance.”

  “Shhh.” Patrick pulled me into his arms again.

  I went willingly and let his strength seep into me.

  “I brought you something too,” he said, reaching into his pocket.

  I hoped it would be a telephone number that I could use to call him at any time I needed him.

  I was disappointed when he held out a flash drive. “What is it?”

  “It contains all the GPS locations that Belgard has visited in the last three years.”

  Remembering Belgard’s mysterious once a month disappearances, I snatched the drive out of Patrick’s hands. “So if I trace his steps…”

  “You might find something useful. But you have to be smart about it, Mags. And careful.”

  I thanked him for the information and went home with DeeDee. I let her tell God and Piss about Belgard.

  While she did that, I climbed the stairs and went up to the B&B. Leslie and Marlene were munching on popcorn and watching an old movie in the sitting room.

  Susan and Griswald were polishing silver in the dining room.

  “Margaret,” she called when she saw me tiptoeing toward Katie’s room.

  Grudgingly I went to see what she wanted.

  “You look tired,” she said first.

  “It was a long day,” I answered honestly. “A long couple of days.”

  “How did your exam go?”

  It took me a minute to figure out what she was asking about, the real estate test had seemed so long ago. “I think I passed.”

  “Of course you did. You’re a smart girl.” She put down the spoon she’d been buffing. “Lawrence tells me your father is up to his old tricks.”

  “A leopard can’t change his spots,” I murmured, unsure of just what her boyfriend had told her about my involvement in my father’s escape.

  “But a man can change his choices,” Griswald countered gently.

  “Only if he wanted to. And my dad,” I shrugged, “he’s convinced that the way he does things works for him.”

  “The judicial system would disagree,” Susan said primly, getting up. “Does anyone else want some tea?”

  The Marshal and I both declined.

  “Just as well,” Susan sniffed, walking out. “With your father on the loose, who knows if anything in the kitchen is safe.”

  I grinned, but swallowed the smile when I remembered that my dad’s latest stunt had ended with Griswald injured and had probably damaged his career. “Look, I never meant for this to go the way it has. All I wanted was some answers from him.”

  “Did you get them?”

  I nodded slowly.

  The Marshal watched my reaction carefully. “What happened is not your fault. I made my decision. Your father made his.”

  “How much trouble are you in?” I forced myself to ask.

  Griswald shrugged.

  Susan strode back in, carrying a teapot.

  “Listen,” I said. “I was thinking, someone’s going to have to take over The Corset for a little while, at least until Aunt Loretta is back on her feet.”

  “Are you offering?” Susan asked.

  “Temporarily. Only temporarily,” I stressed.

  “You’re a good girl, Margaret.” She kissed my cheek.

  “Maybe Marlene could help out a bit too?” I suggested.

  Susan shook her head. “I already asked. She said that doing that would be like expecting an alcoholic to not relapse when forced to work in a liquor store.”

  I ground my back teeth to prevent from saying anything snarky.

  “We’ll figure something out, Margaret,” Susan assured me. “We always do.” But I knew from the pronounced worry lines etched in her forehead that she didn’t really believe it.

  I nodded, wished them a good night, and then went to check on Katie wondering what kind of plan Delveccio would come up with to give me extra work. I hoped he’d come up with something fast. I didn’t need Susan stressed out about my mother’s bills on top of everything else that was going on.

  My niece looked like a sleeping princess in her little pink sleeping gown, lying on her little pink bed. Her hands were tucked under her cheek and a semblance of a smile, as though she was having a pleasant dream, played at her lips.

  “I’m doing my best,” I whispered. “I promise, I’m doing my best.”

  But as usual, I wasn’t sure that was enough.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  We held DinDin’s memorial the next day in the backyard.

  Aunt Leslie was too traumatized from finding the body to attend and Templeton was at the hospital with Loretta, but we had a decent crowd.

  Susan stood with Griswald. Marlene leaned against Doc. Angel cradled Katie against his chest. Armani even brought the shaman, (who thankfully dressed for the solemn occasion by wearing oversized shorts that fell beneath his knees).

  God, DeeDee, and Piss clustered together at the edge of the crowd to pay their respects.

  I stepped in front of the cotton candy-colored casket Angel had made for the chicken and found myself choking back tears as I realized that I could have stood in front of another pink coffin if Katie had died along with her parents in the car accident.

  Clearing my throat, I nervously scanned the group in front of me. No one was there for the bird. They were all there because they cared about Katie. They supported her. They took care of her, even when that meant attending the funeral of a chicken.

  I was overwhelmed with the knowledge that all of these people were willing to do something ridiculous just because they loved her.

  God had helped me write what I was going to say the night before. The piece of paper in my hand shook, betraying my feelings.

  “Thank you for being here today as we say good-bye to DinDin the chicken,” I began solemnly.

  I glanced up and saw that Katie was hanging on my every word.

  “She was a good bird,” I continued. “And even though we only knew her for a short time, she touched our lives.”

  Looking up from my paper, I saw the shaman nodding his approval and Angel putting Kaite down so that she could stand on her own.

  “We’ll remember her fondly,” I continued, “and are grateful she was--”

  “Murderer!” DeeDee roared suddenly.

  Her sudden barking startled everyone. As did her wild ch
arge across the backyard.

  The humans shifted uncomfortably, most murmuring with dismay.

  “Smell bad! Smell bad!” the Doberman whined.