by JB Lynn
“He’s got it so bad for you,” she teased.
“No, he doesn’t.” Even as I voiced the denial, my cheeks warmed as I remembered some of our more intimate interactions. “And if that’s the case, why were you flirting with him and why did he wink at you?”
“Nothing wrong with a man who knows how to flirt a little.” She laughed softly. “Maybe you should take some private lessons from him.”
I didn’t respond and she chuckled again. “Boy, you have it bad for him.”
Thankfully, we arrived at the hospital and I was able to hop out of the car and avoid her. “I don’t want you to tell Katie what happened to Templeton. She likes him.”
“Oh yeah?”
Realizing that Armani was struggling to keep up with me as I crossed the parking lot, I slowed my pace. “He does magic tricks and shit for her.”
“And yet you don’t like the guy?’
“He has his faults.” Like hanging out with mobsters and hocking stuff.
We walked through the entrance of the hospital. I gave a familiar wave to the woman at the reception desk and continued toward Katie’s room.
“Hey so, about that woman you had me set up with Harry.” Her tone was light, but I knew she was about to lay something heavy on me.
“What about her?”
“I heard through the grapevine that she and Harry are considering eloping. To Vegas. Isn’t that cool?”
It would be cool if Harry, our boss, stopped hitting on me. Otherwise I could care less. “They just met.”
“Thanks to one of my predictions,” she reminded me. “Not the first couple I’ve set up. “
I rolled my eyes. “Let me guess. You’re thinking of getting into the matchmaking business.”
“Don’t sound like that. I’ve got skills.”
As we rounded the corner, I saw Vinnie, nephew and bodyguard of crime boss Tony Delveccio, lounging against the wall. The steroid-fueled moron and I weren’t exactly on the friendliest of terms. “Do me a favor,” I muttered. “Fix up that muscle-head.”
I’d only been kidding, but apparently Armani took me seriously. As I breezed past Vinnie with a curt nod, she fell behind to talk to him.
“Hey there, baby girl,” I called softly as I entered Katie’s room.
My niece smiled at me, and all of the sudden, my troubles of the day melted away.
“I drew you this, Aunt Maggie.” She picked up a piece of paper and waved it in the air.
“Well thank you.” I took it from her and beamed at the brightly drawn squiggles I couldn’t make heads or tails of. The doctors thought her weakness in fine motor control was a result of the accident that had killed her parents and left Katie in a coma, but the truth was I’d never been able to decipher her artwork. “It’s beautiful. What did you do today?”
She happily rattled off everyone she’d seen, doctors, nurses, physical therapists, occupational therapists, orderlies, and the guy who came to fix the air conditioning.
Glancing over at the other bed, I saw that her roommate, Delveccio’s grandson, the reason I’d been invited to become a paid assassin in the first place, wasn’t there. “Where’s Dominic?”
“Tests,” she said importantly. “His mommy and grandpa went with him.”
I frowned, wondering why Vinnie was out in the hallway chatting up my friend if Tony Delveccio’s grandson was in another part of the hospital.
“His mommy was crying, but Mr. D. was smiling,” Katie shared.
I wondered if that meant Dominic was finally showing signs of improvement.
“Did Mommy cry when I was here?”
Her unexpected question about Theresa caught me off guard. I blinked back the sudden tears that burned my eyes. “We all cried because we were worried about you, sweetheart.”
It was easier to say that than to try to explain to the little girl that her mother had died instantly in the car accident.
“Even you?”
“Especially me.”
She stared at me, considering the idea. “When I leave here, I’m going to go live with you?”
“Yes, baby girl.” This was something we’d discussed before, multiple times, but she seemed to be having difficulty wrapping her head around the concept. I was sure it was because she didn’t fully understand that her parents were dead and gone. I made a mental note to ask her social worker who I should talk to about that.
“And Godzilla?”
I nodded.
“And DeeDee? I really like her.”
“She really likes you too.”
“But not Mommy and Daddy.”
Her innocent blue eyes searched mine, squeezing my heart.
“No, sweetheart.”
“Aunt Leslie says they’re in heaven.” She looked at the ceiling as if expecting to spot them.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, unsure of how to comfort her.
“He came to see me.”
“Who?”
“The man Aunt Marlene knows.”
My stomach lurched. Had my father been stupid enough to come see her? A warm feeling settled over me as I imagined he cared enough to visit his granddaughter. “Grandpa?”
“No. Marlene’s friend.”
I frowned, wondering who Marlene had exposed our niece to. Before I could ask Katie more about her mysterious visitor, a nurse bustled in. “Time for Miss Katie’s P.T.”
I stood up to allow the nurse to perform her professional maneuvering. Hearing a movement, I turned to find Aunt Susan standing in the doorway watching.
She smiled at Katie, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
Instead of answering me, she said, “Your friend in the hall says you’re going to get something to eat in the cafeteria.”
I nodded slowly, waiting for her to berate me for my choice.
“I’ll go with Katie. You should get something to eat.”
Knowing it was the closest thing to an olive branch she could muster, I murmured, “Thank you.” Turning to Katie I grinned and said, “See you later, alligator.”
She giggled, the joyous sound a balm for my frayed nervous. “In a while, crocodile.”
I pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and then walked out past Susan.
Armani and Vinnie were on opposite sides of the hallway, glaring at each other. You could practically see the tension dancing in the air like dust motes.
“Great,” I muttered.
Armani swung her gaze toward me. “Can we eat now?”
I nodded. “Um. Yeah. Sure.”
“You should see if there’s chocolate pudding,” Vinnie suggested.
I looked at him sharply, trying to decide whether he was relaying a message from his boss or just being a smart-ass.
“Oooh, do they top the chocolate pudding with whipped cream or that chemical stuff?” Armani limped away. “I love those chemicals.”
I gave Vinnie one last look. He scowled back at me. Shrugging, I rushed to catch up with the failed matchmaker.
“Your aunt interrupted my moment.”
I smiled at one of Katie’s nurses. “Susan?”
“Of course Susan. You don’t see any of your other loco family members here, do you?”
I glanced around, half-expecting to spot my dad, but didn’t recognize anyone.
“I was about to seal the deal with Vincent and she marched up.”
“You called Vinnie Vincent.”
“It’s his name. He’s a twelve.”
For a moment I worried that she was rating the juicing idiot on a scale of one to ten and had elevated him to deity status, but then I remembered she calculated peoples’ names based on the value of Scrabble tiles. I let out a tiny sigh of relief knowing she hadn’t totally lost her mind. “What did Susan do?”
“She called him a Neanderthal.”
I winced. While I’d certainly thought that about him, I didn’t think saying it aloud about a mobster’s bodyguard was a good idea. I hoped Susan’s sharp tongue hadn’
t earned us yet another enemy.
“He didn’t like that.”
“I’m surprised he even knows what it means.”
She elbowed me with her bad arm. “People are not always what they appear to be. You should know that.”
I did. I look like a doting aunt when I’m actually a contract killer. Well, technically I’m both.
There was a lull in the conversation as we reached the cafeteria. I looked around for Delveccio, but my favorite mobster was nowhere to be seen. Armani looked at all the little bowls of pudding.
“They have butterscotch! You didn’t tell me they have butterscotch.”
I flicked my gaze toward the rows of little bowls filled with sugary goodness. Sure enough, there were rows of brown, white, and golden stuff.
My cell phone buzzed. “Hang on a sec,” I told Armani, but she ignored me, shuffling toward the desserts like a lemming toward a cliff’s edge.
I didn’t recognize the number, which meant it was probably one of two people calling: Patrick or Ms. Whitehat. The phone vibrated in my hand as I debated whether or not to answer the call.
“You going to get that, Chiquita?” Armani, paused a few paces in front of me, watching me curiously.
“Yeah,” I told her. “Get me a chocolate with no white stuff.”
She scrunched up her face, signaling her disapproval of my boring choice.
I lifted the phone to my ear, a knot of trepidation growing in my gut. “Hello?”
“Time to get to work, Ms. Lee,” Ms. Whitehat informed me smoothly.
“I’m sort of in the middle of something.” I hurried back toward the hallway so I wouldn’t disturb anyone with my call.
“But there’s no time like the present.”
I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.
“Ms. Lee? Are you there?”
“Unfortunately.”
“I understand that you’ve had a rough day.”
“You could say that.”
“Uh-huh.”
It occurred to me that Ms. Whitehat could use a class or two in empathy training like I’d been forced to take at Insuring the Future. Then she would have known to add, “I’m sorry to hear that.” Instead she said, “Too bad.”
Clapping my hand over my mouth to hold back the hysterical chuckle that rose in my throat, I opened my eyes in time to see a harried woman about my age rushing into the cafeteria.
“You have a job to do,” Whitehat reminded me sharply.
I didn’t bother to mask my less-than-stellar attitude. “Hard to do considering you haven’t told me what it is.”
“I told you. You have to save a police officer.”
“Someone specific or just any cop?”
“The one who’s wearing a bright pink banana clip in her hair.” Whitehat didn’t disguise her revulsion at the woman’s choice of hair accessory.
“Banana clip?”
“It’s plastic and makes a…” I could practically see the uptight Ms. Whitehat shuddering. “It makes a ponytail. On a grown woman. An accessory named after a piece of fruit that makes an animal part.”
“The horror,” I mocked dryly.
“Save her,” Whitehat ordered.
“From what?”
“The same poor choices you’ve made.” With that mysterious missive, she disconnected the call.
I stared at my phone for a minute, waiting for her to call back to give me a little more to go on, but nothing happened.
“A banana clip,” I muttered. “Save the banana clip. Save the world.”
When I re-entered the cafeteria, Armani was sitting with her back to me, engaged in conversation with the harried woman who’d walked past me earlier. I had a job to do, albeit a bizarre job even by my standards, and really didn’t have time to make chitchat with a stranger, but I didn’t think Armani, who had three bowls of pudding in front of her, would care about my plight.
“Hey,” I said as way of greeting, approaching the table.
The other woman, around my age, wearing a navy blazer that was a size too small for her over a black T-shirt, eyed me warily as I approached.
“Maggie, meet Joy.” Armani waved her good hand between us, making introductions. “Joy, meet Maggie.”
“Hello. Nice to meet you,” I said automatically. Aunt Susan would have approved of my manners. I extended my hand.
The other woman grasped it firmly, pumping it twice with no-nonsense efficiency. “Joy.”
“Joy has a relative here too,” Armani supplied helpfully.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” I said the phrase so often at Insuring the Future that I wasn’t sure if the sentiment was genuine or a trained-response. Sometimes I feel like a trained seal. There’s not much difference between clapping on command and spouting faux sympathy.
I moved to lower myself into the chair beside Armani.
“We need spoons.” My friend looked at me expectantly.
I froze, half-squatting over my seat, before straightening. “Okay, I’ll get some.”
“Thanks, Chiquita.”
I hurried to get the plastic elements, thinking that the faster I could get them, the quicker I could get Armani out of the cafeteria so I could get to work finding the mysterious banana-clipped cop who needed saving.
Snatching up a handful of spoons, I spun back toward the table.
“And napkins,” Armani shouted. “We need napkins.”
Rolling my eyes, I grabbed a bunch of napkins, wondering if Vinnie felt this stupid when Delveccio made him do his demeaning tasks.
Making a mental note to thank Vinnie the next time he got stuck doing Delveccio’s bidding, I returned to the table. I almost missed it as I passed Joy to go sit by Armani. Almost. Not quite.
Silently screeching to a halt like a cartoon character slamming on the brakes, I put myself into reverse.
Armani looked at me strangely, but I ignored her, focusing instead on the back of Joy’s head.
It was there. The pink, plastic banana clip. I’d found the person I was supposed to save. Now I just had to figure out what she needed saving from.
Chapter Seven
The conversation with Joy didn’t yield much in the ways of answers. She wasn’t terribly forthcoming. I think she was distracted by Armani mixing together her three bowls of pudding together to make a mixture that pretty much looked like puke.
Personally, I was relieved she hadn’t added any of the condiments she’d been so excited about. Sure, tapioca, chocolate, and butterscotch was a gross combination, but it could have been a lot worse if she’d added catsup, mustard, or relish.
Maybe being unreadable and mysterious is a cop thing because they’ve constantly got their guard up and aren’t inclined to let people in.
Or maybe it’s because I suck at asking the right questions.
Regardless, I found Joy to be almost as difficult to read as Patrick can be, and I soon gave up, deciding it would be easier to just ask someone else what was going on with the woman than to get her to confess her secrets. I knew from experience that the hospital was a petri dish for gossip. It wouldn’t be that hard to figure out Joy’s closely held secrets.
Armani, on the other hand, was eager to read our new friend after she’d devoured half of her disgusting pudding combination. She pulled out her purple cloth sack.
“Maybe you shouldn’t,” I warned quickly.
Joy eyed first me, then the bag, suspiciously. “Shouldn’t what?”
Armani shook the bag, the Scrabble tiles clattering inside. “Take seven.”
Joy frowned. “Seven?”
“So I can read you.”
“Read me?”
I watched the police officer’s expression darken.
“She thinks she’s psychic,” I explained hurriedly.
Armani tossed her hair. “I am psychic.”
Joy’s eyes widened. “For reals?”
I stared at her. Did grown women in New Jersey really say “for reals” or was she yanking Armani�
��s chain?
Without further prompting, she reached into the bag and pulled out a handful of tiles. She counted them in her palm. “Six.”
“Seven.” Armani dangled the bag in front of Joy so she could choose her last piece.
I held my breath as they were spread out on the table, hoping they’d give me a clue about what Joy needed to be saved from.
E H P O R S T
At first glance it meant nothing to me. I looked to Armani.
“Interesting.” She fingered the tiles. “Very interesting.”
“What does it mean?” Joy leaned forward.
“I don’t know yet,” Armani admitted. “But it’s interesting.”
Joy leaned back in her seat, clearly disappointed.
“Don’t despair, chica. Not long ago my boss pulled tiles that made no sense at first, but then I fixed him up and now he’s getting ready to elope. Isn’t that right, Maggie?”
I nodded grudgingly. Technically, I’d been the one to figure out the meaning of the tiles, but I was willing to let Armani claim the matchmaking success, rather than add the job to my list of odd job skills.
Joy tilted her head to the side and squinted at my beautiful, but slightly unhinged friend. “You’re a matchmaker?”
“A little of this. A little of that. A matchmaker. A psychic. A little bit of everything that makes the world a magical place.” Armani flashed her most beguiling smile at the woman across the table.
Joy’s eyebrows knitted together as she sank deeper into her seat.
“Not to mention she’s a senior customer service rep at Insuring the Future,” I couldn’t resist adding.
Joy perked up. “Really? Could you help me get a lower rate on my policy?”
“We’re not—” I began to explain.
Armani waved her hand, signaling me to shut up. “Give me your personal info and I’ll see what I can do.”
“That would be great.” From the depths of her blazer pocket, Joy whipped out a business card and began scribbling on the back of it.
Even though I knew Armani had no way of getting Joy’s rates changed, I had to admire how smoothly she’d managed to get the other woman’s name, phone number and address.
As Joy finished writing, her cell phone rang. Pulling it from another pocket, she frowned at whatever she saw on the display. Pushing the card across the table, she got to her feet. “I’ve got to go. Call me?”
