Maggie Lee (Book 7): The Hitwoman and the 7 Cops (5 page)

Marlene and Leslie came running out to the driveway the moment we pulled in.

“What happened?” Leslie cried, pulling Aunt Susan in for a hug she obviously didn’t want.

“Leave you alone for an hour and look what happens,” Marlene teased, but the worry in her gaze was genuine.

“How’s Templeton?” Leslie wanted to know as we moved toward the house.

The marshal and detective hung back and watched us.

“We’re not allowed in the kitchen yet,” Marlene told us.

“But the window,” Susan complained.

“Will wait for later,” I told her gently.

“I called Bob. He’s coming by to fix it tomorrow morning. The nice police people said that would be okay,” Leslie said pleasantly.

Susan stopped in her tracks. “You called Bob?”

I winced. I didn’t know why she and her beau had broken up, but she obviously wasn’t pleased that her sister had called him.

“Yup,” Leslie continued cluelessly. “He said he’d be happy to come over.”

“No doubt.” Icicles were warmer than Susan’s tone. She marched inside, followed by Leslie and Marlene.

I stayed outside, wanting to take another walk around to look for DeeDee.

Mike approached me. “Who’s Bob?”

“He’s this builder guy my aunt dated for a while.”

“Oh. Him.”

I looked sharply at the marshal who was doing that silent communication thing again with partner/cousin.

“What about him?” I asked.

“Nothing,” the marshal assured me smoothly. “My uncle may have mentioned him.”

“Your slightly smitten uncle?” I asked, remembering his infatuation with Susan.  Michael never had to answer since we heard an excited yip.

Spinning around, I saw DeeDee bounding up the driveway. “Hungry. Hungry Maggie.”

“DeeDee,” I dropped to my knees to envelope her in a big hug, but she didn’t slow down her run.

I ended up flat on my back with seventy-five pounds of dog panting in my face, “Hungry. Hungry. Hungry.”

Needing to breathe, I shoved her off of me. “Where were you? Where did you go? Bad dog. You scared me to death.”

She cocked her head to the side and whined softly, “Bad?”

Stumbling to my feet, I shook a finger at her. “Yes. Bad dog. We’ve talked about this. You can’t go running off. Bad, bad dog.”

“Sorry?” She lay down and rolled over on her back in supplication, begging my forgiveness.

Putting my hands on my hips, I frowned at her, unswayed by her apology.

“Chill, Chiquita. She was with me.”

Turning slowly, I saw Armani Vasquez limping up the driveway toward us. Her eyes sparkled mischievously.

“What do you mean she was with you?” My tone was deceptively quiet.

“I borrowed her.”

“You borrowed her?” My voice cracked on the last word. “You borrowed her?” I marched toward Armani, all the worry and frustrations of the past couple of hours ready to spew out like a soda bottle that had just been opened after being vigorously shaken.

As though they anticipated I might do the other woman harm, the marshal and the detective stepped between us.

“You can’t take something without asking and then call it borrowing,” I yelled.

Mike held up his hands to hold off my attack. “Miss Lee, maybe you need to take a breath.”

“Maybe you need to call me Maggie.”

“Fine,” he soothed. “Maggie. I understand you’re upset.”

Peering around the two men, Armani stared at me worriedly. “Your aura is all screwed up. Is something wrong?”

“You’re the psychic,” I spat. “Shouldn’t you know that?”

Brian hung his head. “Oh god, a psychic on top of everything else.”

“She’s a terrible psychic. She only gets things half right,” I told him.

“Hey,” Armani protested. “I’m just learning how to interpret my gift.”

“Curse is more like it,” I countered.

Trying desperately to maintain some sort of control over the situation, the marshal reminded me, “The important thing is you’ve got your dog back. She looks thirsty. Why don’t you get her a drink?”

“Hungry,” DeeDee corrected on a pathetic whine. “Bad.”

Feeling guilty for accusing her of running away, when, in fact, it seemed my friend from my day job at Insuring the Future had “borrowed” her. I knelt to pat her head. “I’m sorry. You’re a good dog. This was all Armani’s fault.” I threw my best  “if looks could kill” expression at my friend.

“Hey, it’s not my fault if Leslie didn’t tell you.”

I frowned. “Leslie knew?”

“Yeah.” Armani indignantly tossed her magnificent mane of shampoo-commercial-worth hair.

“She didn’t tell me,” I admitted quietly.

“Did she get busted?” Armani tilted her head, first toward the marshal, then at the detective.

The two men looked confused and slightly alarmed.

“No. They’re here looking for my dad.”

“What did he do now?”

“Nothing.” The marshal gave me a stern look, making it clear that I shouldn’t be discussing my father’s situation.

Armani looked from one man to the other. “Are you both single?”

Brian blushed and looked away.

“I have a newborn at home,” Mike informed her dryly.

“What about you, cutie?” Armani pressed, sidling up to Brian.

Taking pity on the poor man because he looked like he’d rather crawl into a hole than answer my pushy friend’s question, I said pointedly, “Did you want something?”

Armani pouted prettily. “I was bringing the dog back.”

“Back from where?”

She didn’t get to answer because a car pulled into the driveway. We all turned to see who the latest arrival was.

Patrick emerged, a big grin lighting up his face when he spotted DeeDee. “You found her.”

DeeDee loped toward him. “Patrick! Hungry, Patrick. Hungry. Hungry.”

Smiling, he bent to pet her. “You had us worried, girl.”

“You’ve got a fan, Mulligan,” Mike remarked.

“More than one,” Armani murmured flirtatiously.

Instead of ignoring her comment, Patrick had the audacity to wink at my friend. A surge of white-hot jealousy shot through me. Clenching my hands into fists, I fought the urge to throttle them both.

Turning back to the car, Patrick reached inside. “I’ve got the cat.”

Rushing forward, I was beside him when he turned back around, Piss cradled in his arms.

The one-eyed, one-eared kitty looked even worse for wear than usual. Pain clouded her gaze in her good eye.  “Aw, sweetie,” I whispered, reaching out to rub the spot between her eyes. “How are you doing?”

“Not going to run any races any time soon, Sugar,” she meowed softly, her words slurring together.

“Hurt, Piss?” DeeDee sniffed the cat’s rear paws worriedly.

“The vet gave her something for the pain and a sedative. She’s got to sleep it off.” Patrick handed her to me.

The slight contact our bodies made during the hand-off offered a split-second of comfort, but then he stepped back.

“Poor baby,” Marlene cooed, walking up to pet the cat. “What happened to her?”

“She stepped on broken glass.” I handed her to my sister. “Can you take her inside and feed the dog?”

“Sure.” The look Marlene gave me was loaded with gratitude since she knew I was providing her with an escape from the marshal and detective. Carrying the cat carefully, trailed closely by the dog, she disappeared into the B&B.

“I should go check on Susan.” Leslie followed Marlene.

“Be careful,” I warned. “She’s in rare form.”

“She always is when your father’s involved.” Shoulders back, Leslie went in search of her older sister.

“I have
got
to meet your dad,” Armani declared.

Instead of responding to her, I turned my attention to Patrick. “Thank you. For taking care of the cat.”

He gave me his best professional nod. “She’s a tough old thing.” He turned to Mike. “Anything I can help with?”

The marshal shook his head. “Not right now, but why don’t you give me your number. My uncle thinks you’re a good guy to have in our corner.”

Watching my red-headed murder mentor exchange his number with the cousins, noticing that he had bloody paw prints on his shirt, I couldn’t have agreed more. Having Patrick Mulligan in your corner was a good thing.

Chapter Six

Before Patrick left, Marlene burst out of the B&B like she had the hounds of hell on her heels.

Unshed tears glittered in her eyes, and her cheeks were tinged with pink. I had a pretty good idea from the set of her mouth what had set her off.

“Hi, Marlene.” Armani waved her good hand at my pissed-off sister.

Marlene grunted an unintelligible response as she stalked down the driveway and across the street.

“Geez, you’re all so uptight,” Armani complained.

As I watched my sister move away, a niggling concern took root in my gut. If I’d been alone, I would have chased after her, but I didn’t think having the marshal and detective following her would help to improve her state of mind.

“Is she okay?” the detective asked, tracking her progress.

“He speaks!” Armani mocked.

Shooting her a warning look, I assured Brian, “She’s fine.”

Mike stared at me intently. “Do you think she’s going to meet your father?”

I chuckled, a harsh, grating sound. “No. I think Susan said something to her and she’s gone to cool off.”

I looked away, not wanting him to spot the doubt in my eyes. I didn’t think she’d gone to meet Dad, but I did worry whether she’d come back. She’d walked out on the family once and hadn’t returned for years.

As though he knew what I was worrying about, Patrick cleared his throat and said, “If you don’t need me for anything else, I’m going to get going.”

Mike shook his hand. “Good to meet you.”

Brian followed suit. “Thanks for your help earlier. We’d heard this family takes some special wrangling skills.”

“You have no idea,” Patrick said with an easy laugh, but I knew he was talking to me and was about to chase down Marlene for me. Climbing back into his car, he gave a general wave and sped off in the direction my sister had disappeared.

“Never a dull moment,” Armani said. “Do you think I could bum a dinner here?”

“No,” I said flatly. “The kitchen is closed.”

She blinked, taken aback. “But I had something I wanted to talk to you about.”

The marshal, who’d been in the midst of covering a yawn, snapped to attention. “What kind of thing?”

Flipping her hair disdainfully, Armani turned her back on him. “What business is it of yours?”

I gulped. I really didn’t need her antagonizing these cops and making them suspicious. “Just tell them,” I pleaded.

“
He
”—she jerked her chin in Brian’s direction—“already put down psychics.”

“
She
,” he countered, no trace of his usual shyness visible, pointing at me, “said you’re a terrible psychic and get everything wrong.”

They glared at each other while I meekly corrected, “Actually, I said she’s half right.”

“I don’t get paid enough,” the marshal muttered. “C’mon, Brian. Let’s get out of here before she puts a curse on you or something.”

“I only use my powers for good,” Armani informed him haughtily.

“And I’m sure the world’s a better place.” Mike turned to me. “We’ll be in touch. If you hear from your father, let us know?”

“Of course,” I answered automatically.

He shook his head, signaling he didn’t believe me, before leading his cousin away.

“I’m starving,” Armani announced as they made their exit. “I’m craving a fried bologna, grape jelly and pickles on white bread sandwich.”

I fought the urge to retch. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”

“My friend Robyn Gleason made it for me once. Do you think your aunts have bologna?”

“The kitchen really is closed. It’s a crime scene,” I told her.

“Really? What happened?”

“Long story. I haven’t gone to see Katie yet today. Do you want to grab a bite in the hospital cafeteria?”

“I love cafeterias. They always have tapioca pudding and lots of condiments.”

Trying not to think about what disgusting food combination Armani was dreaming up, I headed into the B&B. “I’ve got to check on the cat and get my car keys.”

“I could drive,” she offered.

Accepting a ride from my semi-psychic, semi-handicapped, one hundred percent crazy friend seemed like asking for trouble, so I ignored her offer and headed inside.

I could hear Susan and Leslie arguing upstairs, so I quietly scurried down to the basement. I almost tripped as I reached the bottom of the stairs because of the sight I beheld. Piss, bandaged paws and all, was curled in a ball on the floor. DeeDee had wrapped herself around her and God was on top of the cat’s head, massaging her bad ear with his little feet.

I didn’t ask how he’d gotten out of his enclosure.

“She’s sleeping,” he whispered.

Nodding, I grabbed my keys, and tiptoed back upstairs, convinced Piss was in good hands… or paws.

On the ride to Apple Blossom Estates Premium Care Facility, I filled Armani in on all of the day’s excitement, minus Loretta’s concern that it was her ex, Leo, who’d injured Templeton and the fact that Ms. Whitehat needed me to save a cop.

When I was done, Armani let out a low whistle. “So maybe you don’t want my warning.”

“Warning?” I was thinking I could have used a warning before the day had started, but since
some
of her predictions had come true, I figured I should hear what she had to say. Sighing heavily, I said, “Hit me with it.”

“Thrusts.”

“I don’t suppose you have any idea what that means?”

“Sorry, Chiquita. No clue.”

We rode in silence for a few minutes. I don’t know what she was thinking about, but I was trying to decipher what
thrusts
could possibly mean.

My thought process was interrupted when she asked, “So the hero cop showed up again?”

That’s what she, and to be fair, half the city, calls Patrick Mulligan. All because of some heroic deed he’d performed when he’d been on his way to kill someone.

“He took Piss to the vet.”

“He’s got it
so
bad for you,” she teased.