Maggie Lee (Book 7): The Hitwoman and the 7 Cops (14 page)

“I know I am,” the lizard groused.

Dad had the good sense to look ashamed as he admitted his guilt. “There was this pocket watch. Well there was no watch inside, but the case was gorgeous. Brass and engraved with flowers.”

“Big enough to hold a folded up sheet of paper?”

“Sure.”

I tried not to let my excitement show. Had I just figured out where the paper Loretta needed to keep The Corset was hidden? “Where is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then why are you looking like you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar. You stole it from Loretta’s jewelry drawer, didn’t you?”

He considered his answer a long time before answering. “Yes and no.”

I threw the car into park before succumbing to the temptation of running him over.

“What does that mean? You stole it, but not from the drawer.”

“It was,” he hesitated, searching for the right word. “It was
liberated
from the drawer, but not by me.”

“Then who?” I asked, wondering who else could want something badly enough to steal it.

I looked Dad in the eyes as we said simultaneously. “Mom.”

“Does she still have it?”

He shrugged. “The last time I visited, it was still in her locked box of personal belongings.”

I winced remembering how Mom had carried on when they’d tried to take that box from her.  “But wouldn’t one of the sisters have seen it while visiting her after all these years.”

He shook his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Nope.”

“Why not?”

“I’m the one who gave the box to Mary. It’s got a false bottom.”

I frowned, unsure if I was pleased with the latest development. “Get in the car.”

“Why?”

Instead of answering him, I put pulled my seatbelt across my chest, fumbling for the latch.

“Aaaaah!” God screamed.

“Not now,” I growled.

“You’re crushing me to death,” he gasped.

Immediately, I release the seat belt and scooped a hand into my bra to pull the little guy out. “I am
so
sorry.”

“You almost killed me,” he ranted, massaging his chest.

I felt awful for having nearly committed lizard-cide. Despite all his flaws (and he certainly has more than his fair share), he’s my best friend. I couldn’t hold back the tears. “Sorry,” I cried softly.

“I have sensitive skin. There will be bruising.”

“I’m really, really sorry.” I sobbed hysterically.

“Maggie?” Dad asked worriedly, reaching into the car to put a steadying hand on my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“I could have killed him,” I wept.

“Killed who?”

I held up the lizard who’d sprawled out on my palm, doing his best death-bed impression.

“It’s a lizard.” Dad sounded slightly incredulous and more than a little concerned.

“
He.
He is a lizard,” I corrected automatically. “He doesn’t like to be called
‘it.’
”

“Of course he doesn’t,” Dad smoothed.

I wondered if that was the condescending tone he used on his wife when she lost it.

Sniffling, I placed God on the dashboard, wiped away my tears, and cleared my throat. “Get in the car, Dad.”

“Why?”

“We have to go see Mom.”

And Griswald had thought the B&B is a nuthouse….

Chapter Seventeen

It was too late to go to the mental health facility where Mary Lee resided. Instead, I bought Dad a six pack and a bucket of fried chicken and used the stack of cash Patrick had taught me to always have stowed in the car for emergencies to rent a room for the night in the seediest motel in town. It was a place that usually rented out by the hour and the greasy desk clerk had trouble calculating the math that would bring check-out time to daylight hours.

While I would have been too skeeved out to stay there, it didn’t seem to bother Dad. He promised he’d hide out there overnight and wait for me to pick him up in the morning.

I’d just left him when my phone rang. I glanced at the number and saw that it was Aunt Susan calling. I let it ring three times before answering with a teasing tone. “Worried I’m going to miss my curfew?”

“I’m concerned that you gave me the slip,” Detective Brian Griswald replied dryly, not sounding the least bit amused.

“I didn’t give you the slip.” Hoping I didn’t sound as flustered as I felt, I looked to God for guidance.

He was curled up in a ball, on top of the dashboard.  “Avoiding drama,” he coached with a yawn.

“I wasn’t avoiding you, Detective. I was just avoiding some of the family drama. Can you blame me?”

“I guess not,” he said slowly.

“It’s a bad habit I picked up as a teenager,” I confided. “Slipping out before anyone can give me a hard time.”

“But you’re safe?” Brian Griswald asked, some of the tension leaving his voice.

“Yeah. I visited Loretta and Templeton in the hospital.” I crossed my fingers as I prepared to lie. “Then I went for a drive to clear my head.”

“You’ll be back soon?”

I glanced at the car’s clock. It was 7:32. I was supposed to be saving Joy by eight. “I was going to run some errands, maybe visit a friend, but if you need me back there…” I trailed off hoping the detective would take pity on me.

“Okay. But you’re not going to break curfew, right?” I could practically hear the smile in his voice.

“Not if I can help it.”

“I’ll see you later then. Just check in when you get back.”

“You’re staying there?”

“All night.”

“You’re a brave man.”

“Not brave enough to go it alone. Mike’s joined me.”

“Great.” I tried to sound enthusiastic despite the fact I wasn’t pleased that the marshal and the detective were staying under the same roof as I was.

“Have fun.” Brian disconnected the call.

Before I could even put my car into gear, my phone buzzed again.

“What?” I asked exasperated, not even bothering to look to see who was calling.

“You’re running out of time, Ms. Lee.” Ms. Whitehat’s voice, chillier than usual, raised goose bumps on the back of my neck. “This is a very time sensitive matter.”

“I know. I know,” I muttered.

“There will be repercussions if you fail.” White hat disconnected the call.

Driving like the hounds of hell were chasing me to get to Joy Gilbert’s before eight, I cruised to a stop across from her address with three minutes to spare, parking in the darkest spot on the street.

“Now what?” I wondered aloud.

“You don’t have a dingbat prediction to help you?” God mocked.

“He sport. Port she. Hop rest. Take your pick. None of them make any sense.”

“Are you really going to see your mother?” the lizard asked, making it clear he couldn’t decipher the psychic clue either.

“I’ve got to. If she’s got that watch…”

“But if they catch you helping your father,” he warned, “who knows what could happen. You could go to jail or lose custody of Katie.”

I frowned, feeling like I was stuck between obligations. Did I do the safe thing so that my relationship with Katie wasn’t endangered? Or did I help Aunt Loretta retain her shop?

“Of course it’s understandable that you wish to assist your father,” the lizard mused aloud.

“No I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Then why hide him tonight and bring him along tomorrow?”

“I need him to open the box so I can get the dingbat.”

God exhaled loudly, signaling his frustration.

“What?” I asked defensively.

“Do you really believe that you’re incapable of opening a box without him?” The challenge in his tone was unmistakable.

Instead of answering him, I stared harder at the front of Joy Gilbert’s house, hoping my reason for being there would magically manifest itself. The collection of grinning ceramic frogs that lined her front yard didn’t seem to fit her unreadable cop demeanor.

“It’s not about the box,” God pushed.

“No,” I agreed. “It’s not about the box.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t want to face her alone.”

“Your mother?”

I nodded. Then realizing he couldn’t see me in the dark, I said gruffly, “Yeah.”

“I thought things were better between the two of you. I thought you’d reached some level of acceptance after she attended Alice’s wedding.”

“We did.” Reaching over, I rummaged in the glove compartment until I found a package of red licorice. “But that was before I knew Darlene could still be alive.”

“So you’re angry at her again.”

“I’m not angry,” I said too quickly. Frustrated, I tore open the package of candy and jammed a sugary treat into my mouth. I chomped on it like a cow chewing its cud on steroids.

“You blame her for being a distraction that day,” God said gently.

“I blame myself for being distracted,” I spat out as years of self-recrimination bubbled to the surface.

“Nobody else blames you.”

I swallowed the sugary candy. “Maybe they should.”

“Maggie, I don’t think—”

“There she is,” I interrupted as Detective Joy Griswald emerged from her house.

It was a dark, moonless night and the lights along the path in front of her house gave her a ghostly pallor.

She peered up the road, as if waiting for someone, before she began to pace with tight, jerky steps.

“Post her,” the lizard said.

“What?”

“The tiles could spell out
Post Her.”

“Yeah, sure. That makes as much sense as any of the other options.”

“Or Her Pots.”

“Awesome,” I said sarcastically.

“I’m just trying to help,” the lizard complained haughtily.

That’s when I saw him. The Chinese guy zipping down the street on a skateboard. I had to look at him twice to determine I wasn’t seeing things.

“Lucky.”

“What’s lucky?”

“Who’s Lucky?” I corrected. “You know, the guy from Atlantic City.”

“The one who tried to drown me?” The lizard knew how to hold onto a grudge.

Patrick had asked me to steal something from Lucky O’Hara a few months earlier. I’d pulled off the job, barely. I’d also seen him outside of an illegal poker game not long ago, but he hadn’t seen me.

“He keeps showing up in the weirdest places,” I muttered.

Lucky jumped off his skateboard right in front of Joy Griswald’s house. I watched as the two of them engaged in a conversation where she looked nervous, but he appeared confident.

Joy shook her head. Once. Twice. Three times.

I heard Ms. Whitehat's voice in my head.
Save her from making the same bad choices you made.

I knew what happened when a law-abiding citizen entered into an agreement with a criminal. I knew that, even though I actually kind of like the guy, Lucky is a criminal.

“Stop her!” God shouted suddenly, startling me.

“Huh?”

“Stop her. That’s what the letters spell.”

“How is it you figure that crap out, but you can’t win a game of Wheel of Fortune?”

The lizard is a huge fan of Pat and Vanna.

“Stop her,” God insisted. “That has to be the message.”

“Stop her from what? All she’s doing is talking to the guy.”

“All you did was talk to Delveccio and look what happened to you.”

I couldn’t argue with that. One conversation with the mobster had turned me into a killer-for-hire.

I could tell from the change in Joy’s body posture that she was relenting.

I squeezed the steering wheel tightly. “How the hell am I supposed to stop her?”

“Shoot him.”

“Shoot him? Look I know you hold him responsible for you almost drowning in the Atlantic Ocean, but I don’t go around just shooting random people.”

“You have standards,” the lizard mocked.

“Besides,” I admitted, “I don’t have a gun.”

“You have a car. Run him over.”

“He hasn’t done anything to deserve being run over.”

“You don’t know that,” the lizard argued.

“I’m not running him over.”

I watched Joy hang her head in defeat. I could tell it was only a matter of time before she caved in to Lucky’s demand, whatever it was.

“Well pulling a
Stop, Drop and Roll
isn’t going to cut it,” God said, reminding me of the evasion technique I’d used to escape Delveccio’s son-in-law the first time we’d met.

“Fire. Brilliant.” Leaning over, I ransacked the glove compartment, emerging victorious with one of the burn phones Patrick insisted I keep.

“You’re going to set him on fire?” Even the lizard, who wanted Lucky dead, was appalled by that idea.

“No. I’m going to report a fire.”

“Where?”

“Here.” I turned on the cell phone, but nothing happened.  “Damn. It’s dead.”

“I’m sure the murderous Boy Scout left you a charger.”

I reached back into the glove box and for once was happy that the superior lizard was right about Patrick.

Hands trembling, I plugged in the charger and connected the phone.  “C’mon. C’mon.”

A moment later there was a flicker of light as the phone came to life.

Through the windshield I watched Joy, shoulders slumped, turn and walk back into her house. Lucky, crossing his arms over is chest, tapped his foot impatiently waiting for her to return.

I dialed 9-1-1 and held my breath waiting for an operator to answer.

“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”

Breathlessly I blurted out, doing my best to sound terrified, “There’s a house on fire at…” I glanced at the house across the street from Joy’s to read its street number. “317 First Street. 317 First Street.”

I disconnected the call just as Joy re-emerged from her house carrying a folder full of papers.

“Too little, too late,” God predicted from his vantage point on the dashboard.

“Crap,” I muttered. “Crap. Crap. Crap.”

“There’s still time to run him over.”

When Lucky reached for the folder Joy held, she hid it behind her back.  My stomach roiled nervously as they argued. When Joy started to hand him the folder, I honked my horn.

Startled, Joy and Lucky turned in the direction of my car. I slid down in my seat, hoping they couldn’t see me in the dark.