“Em…” I hesitated. “Not exactly. Don’t you remember? I was wearing flats.”
Pete heaved a huge sigh. “Okay. What did you do with them?”
I told him.
“You WHAT?”
“It seemed a sensible thing! I was desperate. And you said nobody was living there right now.”
Pete hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand.
“I honestly didn’t think you’d mind,” I said. Okay, so that was a lie.
He pulled into the fast lane and stomped on the gas.
“I don’t know why I’m doing this,” he grumbled. “Why am I doing this again?”
It seemed a good idea to remind him. “Last night was amazing, remember? And then again at three am.”
“That is really low, bringing sex into it,” he said.
I smiled sweetly. “Not to mention, you’re sort of in this up to your neck. Not that I’d tell the cops on you or anything.”
“Oh yeah.” He snorted. “Thanks for that.”
“Sorry. But you see, if you hadn’t followed me to the bank machine—”
“I wasn’t following you!”
“—then we never would have gone to Buffalo!”
“Or Phoenix. Or Toronto,” he finished.
“And just think of everything you would have missed.” I tried to pout, but I’m not really the pouting type.
“Remind me to call you Mata Hari.”
“It’s been done,” I said mysteriously.
We got through the border with no problem at all. Of course, it’s much easier to get through borders without a semi-frozen dead body pretending to be asleep in the backseat.
Half an hour later we pulled up in front of a stunning century-old home in Amherst. It had a wraparound porch, double front doors and beautiful gables. The thing had to be at least four stories high.
The flagstone sidewalk led up to the front steps. A well-tended flower garden lined it on both sides. The sort that’s maintained by gardeners, if you know what I mean.
Pete switched off the engine.
“Honey, we’re home,” he quipped.
“Wow,” I said. “Holy Toledo. Are your parents rich or something?”
Pete shrugged. “Dad is a cardiac surgeon. He’s semi-retired now—uh—Gina, I think we have company.”
I snapped my head around. A white panel van had pulled up behind us. Two thugs got out of the front seat and came running up alongside our car. I’d seen them before.
“Yikes!” I yelped. “Run!” I shoved open the door, vaulted out and thunked into a human wall.
“Oh, hi, Joey,” I said. He looked pretty much the same as in Phoenix. Which is to say, big as a barn.
And pissed at me.
“Gina. How’s things?”
“Same ol’ same ol’,” I said casually. “You?”
“Gimme the shoes, Gina.”
“I don’t have the shoes.” This was true. I find it a relief to tell the truth every now and then.
“Of course you do.”
“I don’t, already! The postman has them.”
“The what?”
“Don’t believe her,” said the second thug. “She’s scamming you again.”
I didn’t like this goon. He was creepier than a zombie at Halloween and his hair was greasy.
“Shut up, Bertoni!” I yelled. “What do you know about classy shoes anyway? Your mother wears army boots!” Okay, so this was deteriorating somewhat.
“You mouthy bitch!”
I kicked him in the shins. He yelped.
Pete hauled me back out of reach.
“It’s simple,” he said calmly. “The shoes have been mailed back to Buffalo, by courier. They should arrive today. Any minute now. That’s what we’re waiting for.”
“I wasn’t planning to keep the rocks,” I said to Joey. “I’m not crazy. I just wanted to get them off my hands before going back through customs. That’s why I sent them here instead of Hamilton.”
Joey shook his head. “You are a real screwup, you know.”
“It’s not my fault,” I insisted. “The big blond from the hotel room stole my shoes when we were in the Galleria. We tracked her halfway across the States until you caught up with us in Phoenix.”
“How could you lose a pair of shoes in a shopping mall? It was the whole reason you were going there!” Joey was clearly exasperated.
I didn’t like his tone of voice. “I had a plan! It was a good plan too, and it would have worked if you and the goons hadn’t barged into the hotel room. I would have given them to you right there, if you hadn’t vamoosed outta the place. So it’s your fault.”
I was on a roll. “And besides”—I poked my finger into Joey’s chest—“if you hadn’t gone awol with that bar tart in Cheektowaga—”
“North Tonawanda.”
“It can be frigging Timbuktu for all I care! The point is, you messed up the drop. And I’m called in to clean up, as usual.” I stamped my foot like a five-year-old.
“So this is what you call cleaning up a mess? What we’ve been through?” Pete laughed.
There was dead silence.
I threw Pete a withering glance. Whose side was he on? That was it. I was outta here. They could all play together in the sandbox. They could beat each other silly, for all I cared. I held my head up high and made the announcement.
“I’m going home.” I turned to Pete. “You can stay with these bozos and sign for the package.”
“Wait a minute!” Pete said. “It’s your package—you and the cousins, or whoever they are.”
“Too bad,” I shot back over my shoulder. “It’s your business now. Your name is on the parcel. And this is your house.” Well, not exactly—but it sure wasn’t mine.
There was only one problem. My purse was still in the car. Which meant, so was my passport. Even worse, I wasn’t going to get very far, because Pete had the car keys.
I turned back.
“Give me the keys,” I said, trying to look tough.
“No way. Gina, be reasonable.” Pete pleaded with both arms.
“Then I’ll hitchhike.” Sometimes I can be stubborn. Okay, make that childish.
“Uncle Vince will kill you if you hitchhike,” said Joey. “It’s dangerous.”
“Right. And hanging out with you morons isn’t?”
“Who are you calling a moron?” Bertoni looked threatening.
“Stay away from her,” Pete growled. “She’s with me.”
“You and whose army, tough guy?”
Bertoni was about six inches shorter than Pete. He poked a finger into Pete’s stomach. Pete socked him with a left hook. Crunch! Bertoni came back at him like a steamroller, and the two hit the ground in a wrestling clench.
“Kill him!” I yelled to Pete, with all the class of a gangster moll. “Kill the bastard!” I was jumping up and down, out of reach.
This was turning into a first-class street brawl. Pete shoved his huge hand against Bertoni’s face. Bertoni got in a really good jab.
“Dammit!” Pete was going to have a killer black eye in the morning. They separated for a moment. Bertoni stumbled to his feet, and I saw my chance.
I looked around for anything that could be used as a weapon and saw the petunias lining the walkway. I pulled a plant out and threw it at Bertoni. That didn’t work well. So I pulled a large geranium out of the ground with both hands and started to whack him with the root end. Dirt went flying everywhere.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he yelled. He reached up to rub his eyes, and Pete rushed him, taking him down in a football tackle. I frantically looked around for more weapons, but the impatiens were too small and the dusty miller looked limp.
Pete and Bertoni were still going at it, rolling over and over on the ground, crushing the phlox and petunias beneath them. They were headed for the rosebushes when I heard the squeak of a faucet and a hiss. Joey calmly turned the hose on them.
“Shit!”
“Holy cr
ap, that’s cold!”
Then he turned it on me.
“Joey, you son of a bitch!” I shrieked. I still had the geranium in my hand, so I threw it at him. Then I charged right at him, taking the stream of water in the face.
“Give that to me,” I screamed.
Joey swung around to deflect me. I leaped on his back, wrapping both legs around his waist. He hollered, but I locked my arms around his head and he couldn’t see. We swung around glued together like a rodeo cowboy on the back of a bucking bronco in a really bad western. Round and round we lurched, me holding on like a boa constrictor, and Joey trying to tear my arms off his head. Water sprayed in every direction. I tried to grab the hose out of his hand, but his arm was too long.
None of us noticed the courier truck pull up behind our line of vehicles.
“Excuse me. Is anyone here called Pete Malone?”
“I am!” Four of us said in unison.
I slid down Joey’s back and landed with a thump on the ground.
“He is!” I said and pointed at Pete.
“I have a parcel—”
“I’ll take that!” said Joey. He reached for it.
“NO!” said the delivery man, pulling it away. “I can only give it to Pete Malone.”
“I’m Pete.” Pete stood up, dripping wet. Mud streaked his shirt. A pink petunia stuck in the side of his hair.
“He is too,” I said. “I swear it.” Not that my word was worth anything. I pushed myself to my feet.
“May I see your id, sir?”
Pete stuck his hand in the back pocket of his pants and came out with a soggy wallet. He flipped it open.
“Here you go, sir.” The delivery guy handed the parcel to Pete, who handed it to me. I handed it to Joey.
The delivery guy looked at all of us and shook his head. “Have a nice day.” He turned and walked back to the van, still shaking his head.
Joey opened the box.
“The shoes!” he said. “Finally.”
I peered over his shoulders. “Those are the ones. The rocks are in the heel. Heels from hell. You can keep them. Are we done here now?”
Joey nodded. His phone rang, and he pulled it from a pocket. He listened, and then his brow furrowed.
“Anything wrong?” I asked.
“For some reason, I have to go meet an ice-cream truck over by D’Youville. Who do we know that’s got an ice-cream truck?”
Oops. No way I wanted to get involved in that again. Time to vamoose.
I walked over to the car, reached in for my purse and took out my cell phone.
I punched in numbers.
“Mission accomplished,” I said into the phone.
“The rocks are where they belong?”
“Sammy, what is the point of me being obscure if you are going to spell it all out?” Jeesh, sometimes I wonder if anyone in my family is cut out for this line of work.
“Good job, Gina. Is paperboy still with you?”
“His name is Pete,” I reminded him.
“Got that. Sweetheart, you are going to marry the guy, right? And bring him into the family?”
“Um…that’s a good question. A really good one. Yup. I’d say it’s a doozie.” I could feel the heat rising up my face.
“’Cause he really has to be part of the family now. We don’t want to hafta whack the guy, you know?”
I gave a little strangled laugh.
Pete poked me in the arm.
“What does he want to know?”
I covered the cell phone speaker with my hand.
“He wants to know if you’re going to marry me.”
Pete grabbed the phone from me.
“Hello, Sammy. The answer is yes.”
I stared at him with my mouth open, water dripping down my hair and onto my neck.
“Of course I know what I’m getting into. She’s a nutcase,” Pete said into the speaker. “Oh. You meant the family.”
“Give it to me! Give it to me! Give it—” I tried to yank it out of his hand, but he held it up above my head.
“Sorry, Sammy, I have to go now. We both need to dry off. See you soon.” He clicked off and handed it back to me. Then he reached forward with both arms and gathered me up in a wet embrace.
“You’re crazy to get involved with me.” My voice sounded muffled.
Pete kissed the top of my soggy head. “I’m crazy all right. Crazy about you.”
I raised my face and looked into his eyes. Nobody would be whacking anyone, if I could help it.
“You don’t know how relieved I am to hear that,” I said. And I smiled.
MELODIE CAMPBELL has been a banker, marketing director, college instructor, comedy writer and possibly the worst runway model ever. Her work has appeared in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, Star Magazine, Flash Fiction, Canadian Living, Toronto Star, The Globe and Mail and many more. The Goddaughter is Melodie’s third published novel.
Titles in the Series
And Everything Nice
Kim Moritsugu
Assault on Juno
Mark Zuehlke
The Barrio Kings
William Kowalski
Best Girl
Sylvia Warsh
Cleanup
Norah McClintock
Contingency Plan
Lou Allin
Evil Behind That Door
Barbara Fradkin
The Fall Guy
Barbara Fradkin
Fit to Kill
James Heneghan
Generation Us
Andrew Weaver
The Goddaughter
Melodie Campbell
Love You to Death
Gail Bowen
The Middle Ground
Zoe Whittall
The Next Sure Thing
Richard Wagamese
One Fine Day You’re Gonna Die
Gail Bowen
Orchestrated Murder
Rick Blechta
Ortona Street Fight
Mark Zuehlke
The Second Wife
Brenda Chapman
The Shadow Killer
Gail Bowen
Something Noble
William Kowalski
The Spider Bites
Medora Sale
That Dog Won’t Hunt
Lou Allin
The Way It Works
William Kowalski
When I Kill You
Michelle Wan
A Winter Kill
Vicki Delany
The Goddaughter Page 6
