by Lynn, JB
“Since you’re not a regular client we’ll need you to fill out some paperwork,” he said.
“That’s his genteel way of saying you owe him beaucoup bucks,” the cat meowed, winding her way between my ankles.
I resisted the urge to ask her if she’d ruined the good doctor’s shoes.
Patrick bent down so that he too could pet the sleeping dog. Gently, he said, “We should go.”
I asked God. “Do you want to stay here or go with me?”
Thinking I was talking to him, Patrick laid a hand on my shoulder. “Neither of us can stay. We have to go.”
“I’ll stay,” God said. “I don’t want her to wake up and be afraid.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, slowly getting to my feet.
“You’re welcome,” the doctor replied, assuming I was speaking to him.
“I’ll keep an eye on them,” the cat pledged.
“You only have one eye,” God taunted.
“Careful,” the cat warned, “or you’ll end up as my midnight snack.”
“Be nice,” I admonished.
“Fine,” God sighed.
The cat just twitched her tail.
“Of course we’ll be nice to her,” the doctor said, clearly offended.
Shaking my head, I looked at DeeDee once more before leaving the room.
Since I’d left the B&B without my wallet, Patrick gave Doctor Felton’s assistant his business card and assurance that I’d be back to settle the bill the next day.
We walked outside and stopped to watch Aunt Leslie who was standing beside the truck, legs spread, eyes closed, arms outstretched toward the sky.
“What the hell is she doing?” I muttered.
“Looks like Warrior Pose,” Patrick said.
I shot him a sideways glance.
“Yoga,” he explained. “She’s in Warrior One.”
“And how do you know so much about yoga?”
He shrugged. “I’ve taken classes. It’s good for you. Strengthens the body. Calms the mind.” He looked down at me. “You should try it. It would do you good.”
“I thought I was supposed to learn hand-to-hand combat,” I reminded him.
“You could do both. Yoga teaches you body awareness, which would make you better at pretty much everything.”
I frowned. “I’m not the bend-myself-into-a-human-pretzel-type.”
Opening her eyes, Leslie spotted us. Lowering her arms she called, “Is she okay?”
I nodded.
She smiled. “That’s good news.”
“It may be the only good news you get today,” Patrick reminded me.
Nodding my understanding, I trudged toward the pick-up truck. It had been a difficult day, but the most challenging part was about to happen. I had to remember when to tell the truth and when to deny everything.
Chapter Ten
Yellow and black police tape fluttered across the front entry of the Bed and Breakfast.
“Why’s that there?” Leslie asked as Patrick parked the pick-up on the side of the street.
“The foyer is a crime scene, ma’am,” Patrick answered.
“It’s not a foyer, it’s a parlor,” she corrected, climbing out of the truck.
“I’m not going to be able to help you in there,” Patrick whispered as I moved to exit after her.
“I know.” Sliding out of the truck, I squared my shoulders, prepared for whatever Marshal Griswald had to throw at me.
Leslie and I walked toward the back entrance arm-in-arm, with Patrick trailing behind. As we got closer to the kitchen, I caught a whiff of cinnamon.
“Aunt Susan’s baking,” I chuckled.
“It’s better than Loretta making another batch of her love muffins,” Leslie said.
Together we turned to Patrick and said simultaneously, “Don’t eat the love muffins.”
He blinked. “Okay. Why not?”
Leslie and I shared a loaded look.
“You really don’t want to know,” I told him. “Just avoid the love muffins at all costs.”
We walked in the back door and were greeted with the muffled hum of voices. Following the sound into the dining room, we found Loretta and Templeton sitting at the table, Aunt Susan standing at the sideboard polishing a silver candlestick, Bob, Aunt Susan’s boyfriend, pouring coffee, and Marshal Griswald eating a still-steaming oatmeal cookie.
“Maggie!” Loretta cried, jumping to her feet, rushing over to me, and wrapping me in a real hug instead of showering me with air kisses the way she usually does. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I wheezed, choking on the scent of her cloying perfume.
She hung onto me tightly, either because she was doing her damndest to asphyxiate me, or because she was really that upset.
Looking over her shoulder at Aunt Susan’s drawn expression I decided it was probably the second.
Squeezing Loretta back, I said, “I’m fine. Really.”
“We’re so relieved to hear that,” Bob boomed. He’s a big guy who owns a construction business and nothing about him is subtle. “Aren’t we, Susan?”
She nodded tightly, rubbing the poor candlestick with undue vigor. “How’s DeeDee?”
“The vet thinks she’s going to recover,” I said.
“Lucky she came in when she did,” Templeton interjected.
Remembering how close to shooting me Paul Kowalski had come, I nodded.
“We were halfway down the block and she just took off,” Susan murmured. “She yanked the leash right out of my hand and took off at a dead run, like she knew you needed her help.”
I thought about God’s screams for help. While they hadn’t made much of an impact on human ears, I wondered if the dog’s superior hearing had picked them up. If he hadn’t stowed away in the box of shoes, Doomsday might have been too late to save me. I shivered at the thought.
“I’m very glad you’re okay, Miss Lee,” Marshal Griswald said, “but I do need to ask you some questions.”
For the first time, I focused on the U.S. Marshal charged with bringing my father in. While he had the fit body of a younger man, the silver hair glinting at his temples and the lines around his alert, brown eyes made him look closer to fifty than forty.
“She’s pale,” Susan said, stepping between the marshal and I. “She needs to eat something.”
“Coffee?” Bob held up the pot.
I nodded. “Please.”
“And she should put on a sweater,” Leslie suggested. “The girl’s trembling.”
Griswald’s eyes narrowed speculatively.
I swallowed hard and lifted my chin, not wanting him to think I was shaking because I was afraid of him. “I am cold,” I admitted.
“I’ll get you something warm to put on.” Leslie hurried out of the room.
Loretta pushed me into the chair opposite Marshal Griswald.
Taking the cup of coffee Bob had poured, Susan pressed it into my hands. She stared deeply into my eyes, searching for something.
I offered her a weak smile.
She nodded slightly, as though satisfied by what she saw. “I’ll make sandwiches.” She glanced around the room. “I’ll make them for everyone. It’s been a long day.”
“Thank you,” I murmured.
Her gaze landed on a spot behind me. “You need a clean shirt too.”
I glanced over my shoulder before I realized she was focused on Patrick.
“I’m fine, ma’am,” he said quietly.
“Nonsense. Bob can give you one of his,” Susan insisted.
“No problemo,” Bob said, lumbering out of the room. “Back in two shakes.”
“I’ve decided it’s easier to just go along with them, Mulligan,” Griswald drawled dryly. “Take the shirt. Eat the sandwich.”
Patrick inclined his head at Susan. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“And stop calling me ma’am,” she muttered. “It makes me sound like I’m the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe.”
Susan bustle
d into the kitchen as Leslie swept back into the room.
“Oh Lord,” Loretta groaned. “Not that thing.”
“It’s warm,” Leslie countered, holding out a southwestern poncho, complete with horses and a Western motif straight out of the Seventies.
“It was ugly forty years ago and it’s ugly now,” Loretta railed.
“And forty years ago I let you tell me what to do, but I’m not letting you do it now,” Leslie told her twin. To illustrate her point, she placed the poncho over my head and yanked it down as though I were a three-year-old who couldn’t dress herself.
“Ladies,” Templeton interceded. “Emotions are running high. Don’t you think—”
“Shut up,” Loretta and Leslie told him simultaneously.
“Hey!” I interjected. “He’s just trying to help.”
The twins stared at me. No one had ever heard me come to the defense of one of Loretta’s loves before.
I frowned back at them. “Templeton helped me before, he’s trying to help you now. Give him a break.” I tugged the poncho the rest of the way down. “Discussion over.” I glared at each of them in turn, daring them to oppose me.
Bob shambled in holding out a blue flannel shirt to Patrick. “Hope this does the trick, Buddy.”
Patrick took it. “Thanks.”
“I’ll show you where the powder room is so that you can change and freshen up,” Leslie offered, hurrying out of the dining room.
Patrick followed after her.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” Loretta groused.
I hung my head knowing that, despite my best effort, there was no way to prevent their argument about the poncho from escalating into World War III.
“Why don’t we all help Susan with the sandwiches,” Templeton suggested gently. “That way Maggie can answer Marshal Griswald’s questions.”
“Much obliged,” the marshal said.
Templeton, Loretta, and Bob disappeared into the kitchen.
Exhausted, I slumped in my chair.
“Is it always this…?” Griswald trailed off searching for a word.
“Insane?” I supplied helpfully. “Pretty much.”
He chuckled. “I was going to say intense, or maybe crowded.”
I nodded. “Yes to all.”
“So you know why I’m here?” the marshal asked, clearly not convinced I wasn’t just as crazy as everyone else in the house.
“Archie Lee escaped from prison. You’re trying to catch him.” I hoped my facial expression didn’t give away how conflicted I felt about that. If, as my father claimed, he didn’t commit the crime he was serving time for, I felt like I didn’t want him to get caught.
Griswald nodded, studying my face.
“And either you love my aunt’s cookies, or you’re pretty sure he’s going to show up here.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Patrick and Leslie re-enter the dining room. I didn’t acknowledge them, hoping that if I ignored my aunt she’d go away. I kept my focus on the marshal.
Taking the hint, Leslie disappeared into the kitchen.
“The cookies are great,” Griswald said, helping himself to another to illustrate his point. He held the plate out to Patrick. “You’ve got to try them.”
Shaking his head, the redhead settled into the seat beside the marshal. “No, thanks.”
Griswald shrugged. “You don’t know what you’re missing.” He turned his inquisitive gaze back to me. “I’m curious as to why you’d think I suspect your father will show up here.”
I took a sip of coffee to fortify myself, savoring the familiar bitter notes for a long moment before I answered. “For one thing, you came here. For another, you’ve stayed for what? Hours, right?”
He took another bite of cookie.
“Not to mention the last time he escaped from prison they caught him here.” I nodded my head toward the kitchen. “Aunt Susan’s favorite vase was broken in the chaos. She was not happy.”
“Duly noted. I could just be here to gather information,” the marshal said.
“Then why wait around?” I asked.
“Maybe I was waiting for you.”
“Then you’ve wasted your time,” I told him. “I didn’t know he was planning to escape. I have no idea where he’s gone.”
“And you haven’t been in touch with him?” Griswald asked.
I shook my head.
“Have you seen him recently?”
I took a second to sip of my coffee, Patrick’s advice to tell the truth ringing in my ears. “A couple of weeks, maybe a month ago.”
“You’ve visited him in prison numerous times over the past couple of months,” Griswald countered in an accusatory tone.
“That’s right,” I agreed.
“According to the Visitor Records you hadn’t seen him for years and suddenly you show up a few times right before he escapes. You can see how I’d find that to be a suspicious coincidence, can’t you?”
I gulped more coffee. “My sister Theresa was the one who visited him,” I explained slowly. “I started going to see him after she died in a car accident a few months ago.” I didn’t bother to tell him that I’d gone to ask my father for ill-gotten funds to help pay for Katie’s medical care.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Griswald murmured. “Earlier you said he hadn’t killed anyone. I’m wondering why. I mean, he was convicted of killing that teller during the bank robbery.”
I shrugged. “I was in shock? I had just been shot at.”
The marshal considered me for a long moment. “But you seemed so positive about it.”
I got the distinct impression that my standing with Marshal Griswald was on shaky ground. I fought the urge to look to Patrick for guidance. The last thing I needed to do was make the marshal more suspicious. I focused on the dregs of my coffee instead, choosing my words carefully. “I know what my father is. He’s a thief. He’s a professional liar.”
“But he’s your father,” Griswald said gently.
I nodded, looking away. “Maybe that’s why when he claimed he didn’t do it, I believed him.”
“Did he say who did?”
Surprised, I looked at the marshal. He was hanging on my every word. “Are you telling me he didn’t do it?”
Instead of answering me, he asked another question. “Why do you think he picked today to escape? Is it some special anniversary? A date that’s significant to him?”
I thought about it for a moment. As far as I knew, it wasn’t an important date. “I don’t think so.”
“He’d ended up in the hospital infirmary more than once since you started visiting him,” Griswald said.
“So you think it’s my fault?” I asked, shocked.
“I think that hours after Archie Lee escaped from prison, a police officer was willing to kill you over something he thought you had,” the marshal said carefully. “So while I don’t think you’re involved, I do believe you’re somehow connected to what’s going on.”
Completely forgetting that I was doing my best to keep Griswald from becoming suspicious of my relationship with Patrick, I looked right at my redhead murder mentor, needing to know if he agreed with the marshal’s assessment.
Patrick’s expression, set in stone, was unreadable.
“You don’t have anything to fear from Detective Mulligan,” the marshal hurried to assure me. “I’ll vouch for him. He’s one of the good guys.”
I nodded, dragging my gaze back to the marshal.
“He helped you take care of your dog,” Griswald reminded me.
“I don’t know what you think I know,” I began.
The marshal held up his hand to silence me. “I don’t think you know anything. I think if you did, you’d have told Kowalski and you’d be dead right now. I suspect that what’s going on right now is bigger than you, bigger than your father. You asked me earlier why I’ve stayed here for hours?”
I nodded.
“I’m not really after your father, Miss Lee. I’m after mu
ch bigger fish. He’s just the bait.”
“Maggie doesn’t like fish,” Leslie announced, breezing back into the room with a platter stacked with sandwiches. “The tuna is on the other plate.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at Griswald’s bewildered expression at Leslie’s out-of-left-field comment.
Oblivious to his reaction, Leslie continued, “This plate has peanut butter and jelly, well, not really jelly, but orange marmalade. Do you like marmalade?” she asked Griswald.
“Um, sure, I guess,” Griswald said, obviously thrown by how quickly the conversation had gone off track.
“What about you?” Leslie demanded of Patrick.
“Not particularly,” the redhead replied calmly.
“Then I hope you like tuna.” Leslie put the platter down in front of Griswald. “Or if you don’t like that, than Maggie’s Special.”
“What’s that?” Patrick asked.
I glanced quickly at him, but his attention was on my aunt.
“Cream cheese and eyeballs,” Leslie replied.
“What?” Griswald asked sharply.
“Olives,” I explained quickly. “When I was a little kid I called them eyeballs.”
“Oh.” Griswald relaxed in his chair.
“Susan said to remind you to wash your hands before you eat,” Leslie said.
I looked at the US Marshal sitting across from me. “Things will be a lot easier if I just do what she wants.”
He nodded his okay.
Getting to my feet, I moved toward the powder room down the hall, as Leslie asked, “So do you like tuna? Because they say there’s mercury in it and…”
I smiled. If Marshal Griswald thought he was going to figure out where Archie Lee was hiding out from anyone in this crazy place he was mistaken.
Chapter Eleven
Not only did I have a deranged cop trying to kill me and a prison-escapee father on the loose, but the next day I had to go to work at Insuring the Future.
I had to go to work.
My aunts had hovered over me all night. I knew they were worried about me, but they were driving me crazy. The idea of being cooped up with them all day in the B&B was too horrible to consider, so first thing in the morning, before the sun even rose, I went to talk to the police officers stationed in the parlor to tell them of my plan to go to work.
