Agnes and the Hitman

by Jennifer Crusie

  “I mean it,” Taylor said, coming into the kitchen and making Rhett growl louder. “She just said all the right things, Agnes.”

  “She’s good at that. Leave.” Agnes frowned as she smoothed the fondant. It looked so easy when they did it on TV-

  “She killed that old man, didn’t she?” Taylor said, and Agnes looked up. “I heard about it. They were talking about it in town, that she drove right into him. Almost into you. She was aiming for you, wasn’t she?”

  “Yeah,” Agnes said, watching his face. He did look truly miserable. “And she stripped Lisa Livia of everything she had, and now she’s trying to destroy her granddaughter’s marriage. She’s a real fucking prize, your wife.”

  “She stole from Lisa Livia?”

  “Taylor, she was going to steal this house from me, why is it so hard to believe she’d rip off Lisa Livia?”

  “Geez.” He paused. “Well, I won’t lie to you, Agnes-”

  “Sure you will,” Agnes said, and went back to her rapidly hardening lurid green icing.

  “I was going to help her cheat you out of this house.” Taylor shook his head. “I figured you were going to do another book, you’d have plenty of money, what the hell.”

  “Fuck you,” Agnes said, bent over the edge of the cake.

  Angry language, Agnes.

  Fuck you, too, Dr. Garvin.

  You’re an idiot, Agnes. Anybody can say “Fuck you.” Do something smart for a change.

  Agnes straightened and stared at her fondant. Did you just call me an idiot, Dr. Garvin? Dr. Garvin?

  “But I’d never have helped her kill you,” Taylor was saying. “Jesus, Agnes, you’re worth twenty of her.”

  “Twenty thousand.” Agnes looked at Taylor, perplexed, trying to figure out what it was about him that she was missing, that Dr. Garvin thought she should be paying attention to.

  Tall, blond, gorgeous, desperate. Nope, he was the same complete waste of humanity she thought he was.

  She went back to the cake. Maybe she could put the flamingos over the lumps. Maybe the lumps would make the flamingos look three-dimensional. Always a silver lining.

  “You’re right,” Taylor was saying. “You’re twenty thousand times better than her. Agnes, if you’ll take me back, I think we can make it work.”

  Agnes jerked her head up. “What?”

  “You and me, honey. We can make it work.” He came closer, his face eager. “I was so damn dumb, I didn’t see that I already had it all with you. Two Rivers, the Two Rivers Cookbook, that cool blue bedroom upstairs…” He cocked his head at her and smiled the smile that had curled her toes a week ago. “Come on, sugar, we were great together.”

  “I’ve had better,” Agnes said, and went back to her fondant. “Since when?” Taylor said, outraged, and Rhett barked at him, a little snarl in there for garnish. Taylor took a step back.

  “Since this week.” Agnes patted a fondant lump gently to smooth it out. No dice, it was going to have to be a flamingo.

  “That Shane guy? Jesus, Agnes, did you even wait a minute after you stabbed me with that fork before you went to bed with him?”

  Agnes stopped patting fondant to think about it. “Couldn’t have been much more than ten minutes. Fifteen, tops.”

  “Agnes!”

  Agnes straightened. “Taylor, you are in no position to become indignant. You got engaged to me to swindle me out of my life savings, and now you’ve discovered you married a murdering whore, and you’re trying to dump her and latch on to me to save yourself. It’s not going to work. Even if I were stupid enough to take you back, you think

  Shane’s going to come home, find you in his bed, and just say, ‘Oh, okay, no problem’? Do you know what the man does for a living?”

  “No,” Taylor said. “But I think if you explained that we’d reconciled-”

  “Yeah, well, we haven’t.” Agnes picked up the cake round and turned to take it to the pantry and saw Brenda staring at them through the screened door. Oh, sweet Jesus, she thought, almost dropping the cake. “If you’ve come to borrow a cup of sugar, the answer is no,” she called to her. Although I’ll trade you a cup for those account numbers in the Caymans.

  “I came to see what Taylor was doing in here,” Brenda said, coming into the kitchen and fixing him with a basilisk stare.

  Rhett growled again, but this time he crawled under the table.

  Smart dog, Agnes thought.

  “Hello, Brenda,” Taylor said weakly.

  “We were just talking about the catering,” Agnes said, taking the fondant-covered tier to the counter by the window. As she got closer to Brenda, she could hear her breathing. She was almost hyperventilating. Anger, she thought. Been there, done that.

  “I thought Taylor had decided he couldn’t do the catering,” Brenda said through clenched teeth, staring at her husband.

  “He was just reiterating that,” Agnes said. The stupid son of a bitch.

  “Yes, I was,” Taylor said, trying to sound stern.

  “And I was telling him that I understood that.” Agnes picked up the next cake tier and brought it down the counter. “So now you can both vacate my premises so I can finish this cake for Palmer.”

  “Green?” Brenda said, contempt all but curling from her mouth.

  “Golf course.” Agnes unwrapped her next ball of grass green fondant. “With flamingos. He’s going to love it.”

  “Well, nobody ever accused you of having taste,” Brenda said. “Bless your heart.”

  “Taylor,” Agnes said. “You can go now. You and the whore you rode in on. Bless her heart.”

  Brenda exhaled through her teeth.

  Taylor looked helplessly from Agnes to Brenda while Agnes began to roll fondant, the heat of her anger making her strong and the fondant smooth.

  “We can go into town now if you want, Brenda,” he said.

  Brenda lifted her chin. “I suppose. I do hate picking my way across that dangerous splintered old bridge, though. I surely don’t see how anybody’s going to get to the wedding now. So I’ll call Evie-”

  “Oh, the bridge is fine,” Taylor said. “Sturdy as all get-out. Much better than the old one. I drove right up to the house, so you just have to walk along the path.”

  Brenda’s lips parted, but no sound came out.

  Agnes smiled as she rolled fondant like a maniac. “That Shane. He sure is a miracle worker. Got that bridge in last night. It’s a beauty. And after that he hung the prettiest black shutters you’ve ever seen on every single window in Two Rivers. If you didn’t notice them, you make sure you look, Brenda, because they certainly are gorgeous. Check out the carriage lamps, too.” She beamed at Brenda. “Now get the hell out of my house.”

  Taylor went over to Brenda and ushered her out the back door, turning as she went out to give Agnes one last look.

  “No,” Agnes said, and he nodded and went out, a lost soul, which was what he deserved.

  She rolled the fondant onto the rolling pin, lifted it over the cake, and flipped it on. “Don’t give me any crap,” she told the icing and smoothed it swiftly down over the sides.

  Perfect

  “No flamingos for you,” she said, and went to get the next layer, wondering exactly how much Brenda had heard and exactly how much trouble Taylor was in.

  And why her subconscious thought she was an idiot.

  Shane knew Carpenter was behind him, perfectly still. He could almost sense his friend’s calmness in the face of his own surging anger.

  Fortunato. Fuck.

  “What happened to my father?” Shane asked finally. “And my mother. You told me she died in a boating accident.”

  “She did,” Joey said. “The same accident your father died in. I couldn’t tell you who he was, because that would have made you a threat to the Don, as the son of the eldest brother. He’s got no kids, he ain’t gonna have any, so you’re the heir, that’s no good. So I made a deal with him. I’d raise you, tell you nothing of your father, and he’d leave
you in peace, he’d-”

  Shane was on his feet before he even realized it. He punched Joey square on the mouth, knocking the old man to the floor of the jet boat, and then Carpenter was there, wrapping his powerful arms around Shane, pulling him away.

  “Easy, my friend, easy,” Carpenter said.

  Shane allowed Carpenter to push him back to one of the chairs and shove him into it. All the rage he’d suddenly felt was just as quickly gone. He couldn’t believe he’d lost control like that. He never lost control. And he could see it now, what his uncle had done. “You did it to protect me.”

  Joey nodded as he dabbed off the trickle of blood on the side of his mouth with a handkerchief he’d pulled out of a pocket. “I did. It was okay as long as Frankie was here. He was protecting you, too. Protecting all of us. Him staying down here was part of the deal, too. Let Michael become Don even though he was youngest. Frankie didn’t want it anyway, though it sure pissed Brenda off. Then Frankie disappeared the night of the robbery, and I knew I had to get you out of here. That’s when I shipped you off to military school.”

  “You could have told me,” Shane said.

  Carpenter let go of him and went back to the wheel, reversing them off the beach and turning south down the Intracoastal.

  “What good would it have done?” Joey said. “The name would have been a weight around your neck. And my deal with the Don was that you didn’t know. I kept my part and he kept his. He didn’t go after you, even though you being alive has always been a threat.”

  “Why arc you telling me this now?” Shane asked as Carpenter pointed the boat toward another island.

  “Because the Don’s coming here for the wedding. And he knows you’re here and who you are. And all this crap is coming up about Frankie and the robbery. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but it’s best you be prepared.”

  The bow of the boat scraped onto a beach, and Carpenter grabbed the second receiver and jumped overboard. He slammed it into the beach above the high-tide mark.

  “Tell me the truth, Joey,” Shane said. “Are you planning to whack the Don?”

  “No.”

  “Because he’s got a professional hitman in the area who is supposed to take out someone who is a threat to-” Shane froze. “He’s here to hit me.”

  Carpenter was climbing back on board and caught the last part. “One theory. And all the more reason to take out Casey Dean first.” He came over and slapped Shane on the shoulder. “Let’s focus on the present. And get the son of a bitch.”

  Carpenter revved the engine and they pulled off the sand, back into deeper water. He turned and steered the boat between two islands. Shane took a deep breath and tried to reorient on his environment and get his head back in the mission, because he knew Carpenter was right. Casey Dean was the priority-even more so now.

  They were surrounded by low-lying barrier islands, some small, some stretching out for over a mile in length. Many had thick clumps of trees, others were just covered in water grass. Small inlets and openings cut off to either side, disappearing into the trees. It was beautiful, the perfect place to hide a boat.

  “Here.” Carpenter turned the wheel and brought them to shore on the edge of one of the larger islands.

  “I’ve got it.” Shane grabbed the third receiver, jumped into the warm knee-deep water, and waded ashore. He shoved the receiver into the sand and flipped the switch on top. He waded back out and climbed on board. He saw that Joey had his Colt Python in his hand, ready for action. Shane opened a case and pulled out another MP5 submachine gun. He held it out to his uncle. “Here. More firepower.”

  “Thanks.” Joey tucked the Python back into his waistband and hefted the submachine gun.

  “We’re on line,” Carpenter announced, looking down at the GPS unit

  “Now we’ve got to get Casey Dean on the phone.” Shane pulled out his phone and dialed in Casey Dean’s number. It rang four times; then the answering service came on.

  “Casey Dean, this is Shane Fortunato. Seems like we might have some things to talk about. I don’t think you’re going to be able to complete your contract.” Shane cut the connection. Shane Fortunato. Fuck.

  “Now what?” Joey asked.

  “We wait,” Shane said as Carpenter drove them over to a small inlet and brought the boat to a halt in the shade of overhanging trees. “What if the mutt don’t call?” Joey asked.

  “You got something better to do?” Shane asked. “If I’d have known the truth-”

  Joey cut him off. “If you’d have known the truth, you’d have never achieved what you have. You’d have been looking over your shoulder all the time and asking too many damn questions.”

  “So you know what’s best for me?”

  “I believed I knew,” Joey said. “Now you got to make your own decisions.”

  “Thanks for-” Shane began, but his cell phone buzzed. He checked the screen as words appeared. Carpenter was at work with his equipment near the GPS.

  SHANE FORTUNATO.

  PLEASURE TO HAVE MET YOU.

  PERHAPS WE’LL MEET AGAIN SOON.

  THE CONTRACT WILL BE FULFILLED. CASEY DEAN.

  The letters stopped coming. Shane looked up at Carpenter in question. Carpenter smiled as he grabbed the controls and put the boat in reverse, pulling them out of the inlet and into the waterway. Shane moved past the center console and manned the M60 machine gun.

  “About three miles from here,” Carpenter called to him, checking his small screen.

  Shane looked back at his uncle Joey, who was hanging on to the boat with one hand, the other holding the submachine gun. “Let us deal with this,” Shane called to him.

  “I can still pull a trigger,” Joey said.

  “Two miles, ahead and to the right,” Carpenter announced.

  Shane looked ahead. They were in a quarter-mile-wide waterway between an island covered in sea grass on the left and thickly forested mainland on the right.

  “One mile,” Carpenter said as he pulled back on the throttle, slowing them. He turned the bow of the boat toward an opening in the trees. It was about two hundred yards wide and curved out of sight less than a quarter mile inland as it narrowed. “I’d say Casey Dean’s boat is up this waterway.”

  The jet boat picked up speed. The sides began to close in as they curved left, giving them less than a quarter mile of width.

  “Not far now,” Carpenter said. “Around the next bend.”

  Shane had his hand wrapped around the pistol grip of the M60 machine gun and the stock of the weapon pulled in tight to his shoulder. The jet boat banked and they skidded around a tree-covered point of land, revealing the same cruiser from the previous day sitting in the middle of the waterway less than two hundred yards in front of them. Shane began to squeeze the trigger and then paused in surprise. A beautiful redhead was lying on her stomach on the bow of the boat, just below the cabin. She wore a thong and skimpy top.

  “What the fuck?” Joey said.

  She lifted her head and waved at them, making no effort to cover her slender well-tanned body. Shane scanned the rest of the boat, but there was no sign of anyone else. Carpenter was throttling back, slowing them further. They were less than a hundred yards from the cruiser when the woman got to one knee, reached down, and brought up a long green object.

  There was a flash of explosion, and a rocket-propelled grenade roared forth from the RPG launcher she held, straight at the jet boat. Shane pulled the trigger on the machine gun just as Carpenter slammed the throttle forward and pulled the wheel hard left, causing Shane’s rounds to go high and left

  “Geez!” Joey yelled as the RPG round whooshed by less than two feet from Carpenter’s position and slammed into the trees behind them, exploding. Shane was scrambling to bring the machine gun to bear, but Carpenter was doing a full circle and the cruiser was suddenly behind them, and he couldn’t fire down the length of his own boat. He abandoned the gun and ran aft, joining Joey.

  There was no sign of the wo
man now, just a dark figure in the bridge, and the cruiser coming straight toward them. There was a flicker of red just below the bridge, and Shane yelled “Get down,” just as the sound of a machine gun firing echoed across the water and the first rounds cracked overhead.

  Shane slammed Joey to the floor of the jet boat, protected by the Kevlar plates on the rear. He looked over his shoulder. Carpenter was crouched down as far as he could be and still have a hand on the wheel and see where they were going.

  More rounds cracked by overhead, and Shane popped his head up to risk a glance back. The cruiser was picking up speed.

  “Faster!” Shane yelled to Carpenter.

  His partner slammed the throttle full forward and they raced back down the waterway. Shane slid the tip of his submachine gun over the rear fantail and blindly fired off an entire magazine. He popped his head up once more. The cruiser was still coming and still firing. The only good thing was that the fixed machine gun wasn’t accurate, firing high.

  Carpenter drove them through the twists and turns. Shane fired off another magazine, this time aiming, seeing the rounds hit the dark glass at the front of the cruiser’s bridge with no effect.

  “That was some dame, huh?” Joey said with a lopsided grin.

  “Yeah,” Shane agreed. “I especially liked the rocket launcher accessory.”

  “We’re clear,” Carpenter called out as they came out of the narrow waterway into the river. He turned right. Shane got to his feet. “Spin us and I’ll fire as it clears,” he ordered as he ran past Carpenter back to the front of the boat.

  He grabbed the M6o and aimed back where the waterway met the river, finger on the trigger. The bow of the cruiser appeared and Shane fired. The first rounds hit low, right in the water in front of the bow. Shane walked them up into the hull and then up higher as the rest of the boat appeared, focusing the string of bullets on the bridge. The 7.62 mm rounds slammed into the bulletproof glass and Shane knew it would only hold for a little while longer against the onslaught.

  “Watch it!” Joey screamed as the woman popped up through a hatch in the bow, RPG on her shoulder. She fired and disappeared. Shane cringed as the rocket-propelled grenade streaked toward them. It hit the Kevlar armor on the front of the jet boat and exploded.