Maggie Lee (Book 16): The Hitwoman Plays Chaperone

by Lynn, JB

Mom nodded.

  Then she looked me in the eye. “I love you, Maggie. I know I don’t always show it, or even know it,” she joked weakly, “but I do.”

  “I know, Mom,” I said, hugging her tightly. “I know.”

  I didn’t have the heart to upset her even more, so I didn’t mention Thurston. I just made silly small talk until she calmed down, and then I made my exit, carrying my unanswered questions with me.

  After leaving Mom, I drove across town to look at the row of trees that my parents had claimed they’d planted in honor of the births of their children.

  I parked the car and stood by the side of the road staring at the trees, counting them over and over again, feeling numb.

  A car pulled up alongside me. The driver’s window rolled down. “You okay, Mags?”

  I shrugged.

  “Get in,” Patrick suggested. “It’s cold out there.”

  He offered me a wintergreen Lifesaver candy as I slipped into the passenger seat. The little jolt of flavor shocked me out of my numbness a little.

  “Something wrong?” the redhead asked, twisting in his seat so that he could get a better look at me.

  Avoiding his green gaze I jutted my chin in the direction of the trees. “How many trees are there?”

  Glancing over, he counted and said, “Five.”

  “That’s what I thought too.”

  “And that’s a problem?”

  I rubbed my hands together, suddenly aware of how cold they were.

  Patrick, waiting silently for me to answer, cranked up the heat of the car, and covered my hands with one of his. “What’s going on?”

  I made the mistake of glancing at his face. The concern I saw there almost undid me.

  Tearing my gaze away, I stared at the trees. “My parents planted those trees in honor of the births of their children.”

  “But there are five,” Patrick said slowly. “Maybe they lost one?”

  I nodded. “I think they did, but not in the way you’re thinking. Armani told us we’re going to need the fifth. I think he or she is out there somewhere.”

  Patrick let out a low whistle. “Need them for what?”

  “Some plan I’m not privy too,” I replied bitterly.

  “How will you find them?”

  I sighed. “Unfortunately, I think I have to find my father.” I shook my head, trying to dispel the feeling of doom that enveloped me. “But you’re not here for any of that, are you?”

  “No,” he admitted.

  “Delveccio has a job for me?” I guessed.

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  He squeezed my hands and then released me. “I’ve got a gift for you.”

  I brightened up a little. Presents have that effect on me. “A gift?”

  “It’s nothing,” Patrick was quick to say. “It’s just that I saw it and thought of you, so…”

  I eyed him suspiciously, wondering if he was trying to woo me back, wondering if I wanted him to.

  “It’s not romantic,” he said, once again reading my mind.

  “Of course not,” I hurriedly agreed.

  He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small box. “Be careful when you open it. It’s got small, loose parts.”

  I gingerly opened the box, removed a layer of cotton from the top, and stared down at the world’s tiniest gun. It was smaller than the palm of my hand and came with teensy-weensy bullets.

  “Does it work?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Won’t do much, but it does fire.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s a weird gift, right?” he asked sheepishly.

  “A little. But I love it.”

  He grinned. “I’m glad.”

  “I needed a boost,” I admitted. “Your timing couldn’t have been better.”

  “Glad to help.” He brushed the hair away from my face. “It’s good to see you smile. If there’s anything I can do to help with your missing sibling…”

  “I’ll let you know,” I promised. “I should go. I promised Armani I’d help her out with a séance.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “Not to me,” I said, climbing out of the car.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  I’ve done some weird things and met some strange people, but even I couldn’t believe that I was sitting on a bone-numbingly cold beach taking part in a séance being led by Armani Vasquez.

  Five other fools huddled together, trying to find closure, or at least the last will and testament of the dead man.

  I mentally kicked myself for being a part of the ridiculous situation. Armani had roped me into it by claiming to need a seventh person to complete the circle. Since her bizarre psychic predictions had saved my butt on more than one occasion, I’d felt obligated to help her out.

  Even though I can sometimes be a badass killer, like many women, I really need to learn to say “no” more often…or at least more convincingly.

  At least I knew I’d have no problem saying no to skeevy Stevie. The brother of the deceased massaged my left hand with his sweaty mitt like he expected to get it on with me, right here in the sand the moment this séance was over. I’d have pulled free of his grip if I didn’t think Armani would blame me for interrupting her communication with the spirits.

  Personally, I couldn’t understand how she could hear them over the crashing waves, whipping wind, my own chattering teeth, and skeevy Stevie’s heavy breathing.

  “I see Siamese twins!” Armani announced excitedly. Her usually beautiful tresses, caught by the wind, danced around like snakes. Fitting, considering I was pretty sure my frozen butt had turned to stone.

  Morgan, the deceased’s nephew, asked, “Like Siamese twins in the circus?”

  “The politically correct term is conjoined twins,” God corrected.

  Of course no one else heard the words. To them, it sounded like my chest was squeaking. They all stared at me wide-eyed.

  The lizard, who was curled up in my bra, probably the only warm spot on the beach, was oblivious to the strange looks I was getting. “Ask her where they’re joined.”

  “Sylvester wasn’t a twin,” Harriet, wife of skeevy Stevie, argued.

  “Ask her,” God urged.

  Knowing if I didn’t, my chest would never stop squeaking, we’d never finish the silly séance, and I’d never get to defrost my body, I cleared my throat. “Where are they joined?”

  “At the hips,” Armani replied as though I’d asked a perfectly normal question.

  “Omphalopagus,” God declared. “Only ten percent of conjoined twins are omphalopagus.”

  He’s such a know-it-all.

  “Maybe it means that Uncle Sly’s fortune is tied to someone,” his niece suggested.

  “To me,” his business partner said forcefully.

  Stevie, Harriet, Morgan, the niece, and the business partner all began to yell at one another about how each deserved the inheritance and what awful people all the others were.

  Personally, I thought they were all pretty awful people and thought it a pity the inheritance hadn’t been left to charity.

  “Shoot them,” God begged. “You’ve got the gun Patrick gave you.”

  I chuckled. It too was tucked into my bra. Less than two inches long, it couldn’t even shoot through an empty soda can. Still, I considered using it to shoot Stevie in the eye, when his hand landed high on my thigh.

  Instead, I karate-chopped his throat. A move that left Stevie rolling on his back, gasping for air, Armani glaring in my direction, and me explaining, “Sorry. My self-defense training kicked in when he groped me. That whole eyes, nose, throat, groin thing.”

  “Groped?” Harriet shrieked. She swung her oversized purse at her husband’s head and he cowered against the sand.

  “Get ’im, Aunt Harriet,” the niece urged.

  “Sock it to him,” the nephew agreed.

  “Stop!” Armani yelled.

  All eyes turned toward her. I tried to hide my
disappointment that she’d interrupted Stevie’s walloping.

  “They’re not twins,” Armani gasped. “They’re wearing Fundies.”

  My aunt with nymphomaniac tendencies, Loretta, owns a lingerie/sex toy shop, so I know what Fundies are.

  Obviously the business partner did not have the same knowledge because he asked, “What the hell are Fundies?”

  “Underwear built for two,” Armani explained. “The tandem bicycle of clothing items.”

  “What does that even mean?” Harriet huffed.

  “It means I know where his will is,” Armani said slowly. “You’re not going to be happy about it.” Her eyes met mine. “Especially you.”

  “I’m not even part of this,” I protested. “You just needed a seventh warm body and I’m not even warm anymore.”

  “But Loretta is,” Armani said solemnly. “I’m pretty sure she’s Sylvester’s beneficiary.”

  I shivered. Not because of the cold this time, but because I knew this could mean only more trouble and chaos for my dysfunctional family.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  It wasn’t my place to tell Loretta about the psychic’s séance suppositions, so when I returned to the B&B I made a point to avoid her. It proved easy since she was at her store with Templeton.

  In fact almost no one was at home.

  Leslie was at a Narcotics Anonymous meeting, Marlene was out on a date with Doc,

  Angel had moved out, and Katie was at Darlene’s house.

  “I actually heard the phrase, the tandem bicycle of clothing,” God complained as I marched down the stairs into the basement.

  “Poor you,” Piss drawled, crawling out from beneath the couch.

  “Beef!” DeeDee barked.

  “What?” God and I asked simultaneously.

  “Beef!” the dog repeated.

  I opened the cellar’s storm doors to let the dog into the backyard. I followed her outside. Even Piss came with us.

  “Beef!” DeeDee barked again racing around in a circle for no discernible reason.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” God asked.

  “It’s what’s for dinner,” Piss drawled. “How was the beach?”

  “At least no one tried to drown me this time,” the lizard huffed. “Not like the last time I was there.” There was no missing the unforgiving condemnation in his tone.

  I grit my teeth. “For the last time, I wasn’t trying to drown you.”

  “Yeah, she wouldn’t try to do it, she’d just do it,” Mike cawed from atop a tree branch.

  “You’re not helping,” I told him.

  His eyes gleamed mischievously. He knew very well he wasn’t helping.

  “Pot stirrer,” I accused.

  “What is a spoon?” God called out victoriously.

  I looked to Piss as the sole bastion of sanity in my world. She raised a shoulder and then slunk away, letting me know I was on my own.

  Sighing heavily, I turned around and went back inside.

  I could hear Aunt Susan puttering in the kitchen, no doubt preparing beef, as I went looking for Griswald. Both DeeDee and Piss followed closely behind. God hung out in my bra, silent for the moment.

  I found the marshal polishing silverware in the dining room.

  “Do you really like doing that?” I asked. “Or is it just something that makes Susan happy?”

  Griswald considered the teaspoon he held. “I enjoy it. I’m making a difference and it’s a job that has a definite end. In my line of work that doesn’t usually happen.”

  I didn’t point out that I’d heard he was going to retire from his line of work. Instead I said carefully, “I need a favor.”

  He put the spoon down and regarded me thoughtfully.

  I tried to meet his gaze steadily even though my stomach was churning with anxiety.

  “You want to see your father?” he guessed.

  I nodded, knowing full well I was asking something that was almost impossible to deliver.

  He considered the request. “About the fifth?”

  Startled by his perceptiveness, I asked, “Susan told you about that?”

  He shook his head. “I was eavesdropping, remember?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m not sure I’ll be able to arrange a meeting,” Griswald admitted. “It was a disaster last time.”

  I nodded. “I understand. I shouldn’t have asked.” I started to back out of the room.

  “Maggie,” he said quietly, stopping me in my tracks.

  “Yes?”

  “I could relay a message to him if that would help.”

  My heart soared at the possibility. “That would be great. Thank you.”

  “What do you want me to tell him?”

  I considered that for a long moment. “Tell him that Ian is on the loose and I’m going to find my missing sibling.”

  Griswald nodded. “I can do that.”

  “Thanks.”

  “But can I give you some advice?” he asked.

  I nodded, bracing myself for him to tell me not to go off on this wild goose chase.

  “Go on that road trip with Armani,” he suggested. “You’ve been playing chaperone for this family for long enough. You deserve to have some fun.”

  “Road trip!” God yelled, DeeDee barked, and Piss yowled simultaneously.

  Griswald grinned. “Sounds like everyone agrees.”

  Everyone except me.

  The End

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  OTHER BOOKS BY JB LYNN

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  Maggie Lee is not your average hitwoman. For one thing, she's never killed anyone.

  For another, after hitting her head in the car accident that killed her sister, her new best friend is a talking lizard—a picky eater, obsessed with Wheel of Fortune, that only Maggie can hear.

  Maggie, who can barely take care of herself, is desperate to help her injured and orphaned niece get the best medical care possible, so she reluctantly accepts a mobster's lucrative job offer: major cash to kill his monstrous son-in-law.

  Paired with Patrick Mulligan, a charming murder mentor (who happens to moonlight as a police detective), Maggie stumbles down her new career path, contending with self-doubt, three meddling aunts, a semi-psychic friend predicting her doom, and a day job she hates.

  Oh, and let's not forget about Paul Kowalski, the sexy beat cop who could throw her ass in jail if he finds out what she's up to.

  Training has never been so complicated! And, this time, Maggie has to get the job done.

  Because if she doesn't . . . she's the mob's next target.

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