Agnes and the Hitman (47 page)

“Uncle Michael isn’t here,” Maria said, her hands on hips, splendid in her pink wedding dress.

Agnes blinked at her. “What?”

“Uncle Michael. The Don.” Maria folded her arms. “The guy who was giving me away. He’s not here.”

“He ain’t gonna be here,” a brand-new Frankie said from the doorway as Rhett padded past him, oblivious to the drama going on around him. “And you ain’t gonna miss him.” He straightened the jacket of his tux and lifted his newly shaven chin, and he looked every inch a Fortunato.

“Oh, God,” Agnes said. “What happened to the Don?”

“I’m giving you away, Maria,” Frankie said, offering Maria his arm.

Maria blinked at him. “Doyle?”

“I’m your grandpa Frankie, honey,” Frankie said.

Maria looked at Lisa Livia.

“This is my daddy,” Lisa Livia said. “Frankie Fortunato. Your grandmother tried to kill him twenty-five years ago, so he swam the Blood River and got away from her, but now he’s come back and he’s going to walk you down the aisle.”

Maria sat down on of the kitchen chairs.

“Want a drink?” Agnes said. “‘Cause I’m thinking I’m going to need one after the next question.” She looked at Frankie. “Where’s the Don, Frankie?”

“He’s sleeping with those he did wrong to,” Frankie said.

“Oh.” Agnes got out the bourbon. “Did Shane kill him?”

“Nope,” Frankie said while Agnes poured herself a shot. “Don’t ask no more questions, Agnes,” he added with affection.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Frankie,” Agnes said, and knocked back her drink. “Maria?” she said, offering her the bottle.

“No, I’m good,” Maria said. “So. Grandpa. You’re going to walk me down the aisle. Okay.” She looked at Agnes. “You find out who ruined my dress yet?”

“Oh, that was Brenda,” Agnes said.

Maria’s nodded. “So when she sees me coming down the aisle in her dress with Grandpa Frankie ...”

“Could be a coronary,” Agnes said. Maria stood up. “Hello, Grandpa.”

“Wonderful,” Agnes said. “And you really do look beautiful, Maria.” When Maria didn’t look at her again, she thought,
Well, I have
to earn
that,
and started for the door, almost toppling over as her knees met the hem of her pencil skirt, a problem she’d been having all morning.
Small steps,
she told herself, and tried again.

To Do List,
she thought as she minced her way down the porch steps.
Take back Maria’s wedding from the clowns. Get Brenda to incriminate herself. Get Lisa Livia her money back. Get Shane a better job. Write column.

Burn this damn dress.

He checked off the players on the groom’s side: the groom, best man, ushers, preacher, musicians, and photographer were in place, and yes, there in the front row was Evie wearing something in that same pink that Agnes had been slinking around in. Evie had a jacket over hers, though.
Good plan,
Shane thought. Then he frowned as he looked out past the lawn: Wilson’s boat was back, anchored just off the dock and to the left of Brenda’s yacht. Coming to watch the hit?

Had he watched a hit before? Shane wondered. Had the consigliere reported to him so that he knew the details of the deaths—the words
they say
echoing in his mind—or had Wilson known firsthand? What the fuck was the real deal?

Shane walked across the lawn to the photographer, an attractive woman with several cameras dangling on straps around her neck. “Could I borrow your camera with the best zoom for a second?”

The woman turned to him and smiled. “Sure.” She pulled one off and held it out for him.

Shane took it. “Thanks.” He took the camera and zoomed in on the yacht. Wilson was on the bridge with another old man Shane recognized from intelligence briefings: the head of the mob in New York City. Another of Wilson’s puppets, Shane thought. Come to see the coronation of the successor in New Jersey. He handed the camera back to her.

“Appreciate it,” he said.

“No sweat.” She went back to the guests, and Shane walked over to Carpenter at the edge of the gazebo.

“You do what you had to?” Carpenter asked.

“Joey and Frankie handled it,” Shane said. “There’ve been some changes in the plan. Let’s find Casey Dean first.” He pulled out the pink cell phone he’d taken from Abigail’s bag the night before and hit number 1 on the speed-dial.

Shane stiffened as a woman’s voice answered: “Where are you, sis?”

He was still processing that when Carpenter nudged him and pointed. “Over there.”

Shane looked across the cluster of guests. The photographer had a cell phone in her hand, and she tossed her hair away from it as she listened in a way Shane remembered.

“Princess,” Shane said into the phone. “What’s your sign?”

He saw the photographer turn her head and stare right back at him.

“Where’s Abigail?” she said into the phone

“I’ve got her,” Shane said. “Casey Dean, I presume? We met before. In a bar in Savannah.”

“What do you want?” Casey Dean asked, glaring at Shane. “The Don’s dead, so your contract is, how should I say, defunct.” Shane could see her go rigid. “Bullshit.”

“You see Don Fortunato or his consigliere anywhere around?”

There was silence. Shane continued. “When the grandfather of the bride escorts her down the aisle, you’ll know I’m telling the truth. You do anything, I’ll have your ass.”

There were several seconds of silence; then Casey Dean spoke. “Where’s my sister?”

“We have her, along with the five million.”

“What do you want?”

“For
now,
the wedding to go off without a
hitch. Are you clear on that?”

“Yes.” The word was a hiss. “But you’re fucking up, big-time.”

“Make sure to take some good pictures.” Shane hit the
off
button, but paused, thinking about what Casey Dean had just said. He looked at the pink phone, then hit
2
on the speed-dial and listened as the phone was answered.

“Yes?” Wilson said.

Shane turned the phone off, cold all over, and looked at Carpenter. “That thing we’ve been missing?”

“Yes?”

“I just found it.”

“You’re kidding,” she said, and started to laugh.

“My
daddy
gave it to me,” Lisa Livia said, holding it out with one finger. “He said he’d had it appraised and it was worth about ten grand and he wanted me to have it”

“Ten grand?” Agnes said doubtfully.

“He’s wrong,” Lisa Livia said. “It’s worth at least thirty. The big hearts are pink quartz, but the spacers are pink diamonds. Good ones, too. He probably went to some fence in Savannah who low-balled him.”

“Oh, my God,” Agnes said. “And he put it on Rhett.”

“Here,” Lisa Livia said, and held out her hand, and when Agnes put out her palm, Lisa Livia dropped a pink ribbon onto it. “It’s one of the hearts and a couple of the diamonds. It’s not much, probably only five grand, but it’s a thank-you and a souvenir. In case you ever forget Maria’s wedding. Or need some quick cash.”

Agnes held up the ribbon to see the heart sparkle in the sunlight, the diamonds sparkling brighter. It was godawful ugly. “I’ll never give it up,” she said truthfully.

“We gotta wear them,” Lisa Livia said, and helped her tie it on. Then she stood back and smiled happily. “Brenda’s going to have a heart attack.”

They made their way down to the gazebo with Rhett, the flamingos honking in the background because that idiot Butch had not shown up, and they both stopped, stunned, when they saw Evie, dressed in the same cherry dress and wearing a pink jacket and a pink straw hat with a giant pink daisy on it, looking cute as all hell, sitting beside her husband, Jefferson, in all his grayed
Dynasty
dignity.

“I don’t believe it,” Agnes said as they sat down in the front row, Rhett collapsing at their feet. “Evie wore the dress.”

“She cheated,” Lisa Livia said. “She’s wearing a jacket.”

“Yes, but it matches,” Agnes said, impressed. “I bet she had that made. I bet it cost ten times what the dress did. And the hat is killer.”

“She’s gonna outshine Brenda,” Lisa Livia said. “I just love Evie Keyes.”

Garth was sitting right behind them with a pretty girl in her Sunday best named Tara, who was looking around wide-eyed at everybody. He looked serious, sitting straight in a very nice suit jacket that Palmer had helped him pick out and then paid for, and Agnes thought,
Good for Palmer.
She turned around and whispered, “You’ve done a great job here, Garth. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

The girl looked at Garth with awe. Garth blushed brighter than Cerise.

Agnes turned around and grinned.

Palmer and Downer took their places next to Reverend Miller, a big man who looked extremely unhappy to be there. Downer, on the other hand, looked ecstatic, which meant he probably had something horrible up his sleeve. And Palmer looked like death, or at least hung-over to the point of death, staring off into the distance with that If I Don’t Move, My Head Won’t Fall Off look in his eyes.

The reverend nodded to the band, which immediately struck up very fast Latin dance music that spooked Cerise and Hot Pink into wild honking.

“What the hell?” Palmer said, turning on Downer, who was laughing his ass off.

“Don’t you get it?” Downer said, holding on to Palmer now, he was laughing so hard. “It’s flamingo music.”

“What?” Palmer said, completely confused.

“Flamenco music,” Agnes said grimly, but at that point the entire assembly was looking the other direction, and even the band slowed and then stopped playing as the musicians gaped.

Brenda had arrived.

She’d probably been expecting the wedding march and intended to slide in front of Maria, so the flamenco music took her by surprise, but she carried on anyway, walking down the aisle in a black lace dress, holding a black lace handkerchief to her lips at intervals and nodding to anyone who murmured their sympathy to the widow as she glided to the front. By responding only to those who said something, she stayed just this side of good taste, but Brenda in black lace was always going to be hot, and the black lace mantilla she had added had an unfortunate Bride of Dracula effect that threatened to topple the whole thing over into comedy, except that Taylor was really dead.

“Morticia Addams does Seville?” Lisa Livia whispered.

“She’s a widow,” Agnes whispered back. “Show some respect.”

“She ain’t as much of a widow as she thinks she is,” Lisa Livia said.

Brenda reached the gazebo and gave a sad smile to the groom’s family in the front row and then turned to her side of the aisle to take her seat.

Lisa Livia waved to her.

Brenda saw the necklace and went rigid. Then she saw Agnes and went berserk. “We can’t have this wedding,” she said loudly, and pointed to Agnes. “That woman is a murderer. Detective Xavier, I saw you back there, why isn’t this woman in jail?”

Xavier took a couple of steps out from underneath the old oak. “I believe Miss Agnes is on a recreational furlough. Don’t
you worry, Mrs. Beaufort. I got my eye on her.” He nodded to Reverend Miller. “You can go on, Reverend.”

“Well, I’m making a citizen’s arrest,” Brenda said, rigid and righteous in black lace.

“You can’t, ma’am,” Xavier said. “She’s already under arrest. Now let’s just all sit down and get started on this nice wedding.” He came strolling over to the chairs on the bride’s side, looking more relaxed than Agnes had ever seen him. On his way, he tipped his hat at Evie Keyes and gave her a roguish grin, and she smiled back at him, dimpling under her pink daisy.

Jefferson Keyes looked startled.

“I demand an arrest!” Brenda said, her voice growing sharper.

“If you don’t sit down,” Xavier said, his voice growing softer, “that arrest is gonna be you for disturbing the peace.”

Brenda drew a deep breath, which did amazing things for her cleavage, and sat down next to Lisa Livia. “Where’d you get that necklace?” she spat.

“It was a gift,” Lisa Livia snapped back.

Xavier sat down behind Brenda, next to Garth, who clearly wished he hadn’t.

Up at the front, Reverend Miller was now conferring with Jefferson Keyes. Jefferson finally shook his head and sat back down.

Reverend Miller drew himself up to his full rotund height. “I’m sorry,” he said, clearly not. “But I feel the irregularities present at this ceremony make it impossible for me to continue.”

Lisa Livia tensed, but Brenda smiled, showing her teeth.

The reverend flared his nostrils. “I don’t know what’s going on, but there are undercurrents here that make this wedding less than the holy occasion it should be.”

Agnes drew a deep calming breath, the way Dr. Garvin had taught her.
I’m going to kick your pompous ass into the Blood River and let the flamingos and the gators fight over it, you dickless wonder.

Reverend Miller bowed his head. “Let’s all close with a prayer—”

“Let’s not.”

Agnes looked at Lisa Livia, thinking for the moment that she’d broken her promise to Maria, but then she realized that Evie Keyes was standing up, pink daisy quivering with repressed emotion.

“If you don’t feel you can perform the wedding ceremony of my son, who will someday inherit a significant portion of the Keyes land and fortune,” Evie said, very distinctly, “then I understand. I’m just not sure
he
will.” She fixed the reverend with the iciest blue eyes since the Snow Queen, and the reverend froze. Understandably.

Go, Evie,
Agnes thought.

“What the hell?” Brenda murmured under her breath, leaning forward.

The reverend turned and smiled weakly at Palmer, who did not smile back, which wasn’t surprising since Palmer hadn’t smiled since Thursday, but Agnes wasn’t about to tell Reverend Miller that.

The reverend turned back to Evie. “Can you assure me that nothing untoward is happening in occasion with this wedding?” he said, trying to work some sternness back into his voice.

“No,” Evie said, having no trouble at all lacing her voice with a lot of
fuck you
and earning Agnes’s undying respect in the process.

“Perhaps I was hasty,” the reverend was saying, going down in ignominious defeat.

No doubt about it,
Agnes thought as Evie took her seat again.

Brenda made a little shrieking sound beside her, full of rage and frustration.

“Very well.” Reverend Miller nodded to the band, which struck up that goddamned flamenco music again, setting off Cerise and Hot Pink all over again.

“Stop that,” Agnes said, standing up, and the whole wedding now looked at her as she scowled at the band. “You, classical music from now on. If you can’t play that, you don’t get paid. You know the wedding march?”

“Of course we know the wedding march,” the bandleader said. “We had to learn the damn flamenco for this gig.”

Downer burst out laughing again.

“Grow up,”
Agnes said, and he stopped. Then she nodded to the band, and it began the wedding march. “Jesus,” Lisa Livia said.

“If we’d had this at the country club—” Brenda began.

“Shut your thieving, murdering mouth,” Lisa Livia said, and Agnes thought,
That’s fair,
and turned to watch Maria come down the aisle.

Maria appeared at the top of the porch steps, unsmiling but lovely in flamingo pink, and Frankie paused beside her, too, beaming and majestic in tuxedo black, and they walked across the lawn together until they reached the edge of the chairs. Then somebody said, “Who the hell is that?” and Brenda turned, and gasped,
“Frankie?”
rising to her feet on the word as her face went paper white, and Frankie waved to Lisa Livia, and then made a gun out of his thumb and forefinger and shot Brenda.

She fainted dead away and the wedding march trailed off.

Agnes looked at the bandleader. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

He nodded to the band, which struck up the wedding march again, and Maria began her walk down the white cotton runner, her chin up, her long dark hair ruffling in the breeze, and Frankie on her arm, still beaming.

Lisa Livia uncapped a bottle of water and poured it over her mother’s head, ruining her hair and makeup and making Maria smile, and Brenda came to sputtering. Lisa Livia grabbed one arm and hauled her into her seat. Maria and Frankie reached the end of the aisle as a lot of the guests on the bride’s side of the aisle suddenly developed a pressing need to be elsewhere.

Maria gave her maid of honor her flowers, Frankie patted her hand and gave it to Palmer, and then they both turned to Reverend Miller, Maria’s smile fading as she saw him.

Frankie sat down beside Agnes and said, “Damn fine wedding, Agnes.” Then he leaned forward so he could look past her and Lisa Livia to the dripping Brenda and said, “Hello, Brenda. I’m back. Miss me?”

She gazed hack at him with such loathing that both Lisa Livia and Agnes pulled back a little.

“Hello, Frankie,” she snarled. “Maisie’s in the back row if you want a quickie.”

“A marriage is a lifetime bond,” Reverend Miller intoned loudly, gazing sternly at Maria, who stepped back a little. “One that should not be entered into lightly.”

“I saw her,” Frankie said. “She hasn’t held up like you have, baby. What’d you do, kill a virgin and drink her blood, you murderous bitch?”

“They were a hell of a lot easier to find once you left town, you cheating bastard,” Brenda said.

“Shut up,” Lisa Livia hissed. “This is my kid’s
wedding.”

“Much soul searching should be done to ascertain that the two souls seeking to be joined
forever
are indeed soul mates,” Reverend Miller said to Maria, whose shoulders slumped, “coming from the same kind of communities, speaking the same language—”

“Hey, I was just trying to find a little fuckin’
warmth”
Frankie said. “Which I sure as hell wasn’t gettin’ at home.”