Maggie Lee (Book 10): The Hitwoman's Act of Contrition (15 page)

She focused on my hand that clutched the box. “Poison?”

I didn’t dare answer her.

She pulled the door to the room closed, isolating us from the rest of the house. “You have nothing to fear from me. I’m the one who paid to have my son killed.”

I stared at her, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to do. I had to get out of there, but had no idea how.

The woman, who I now realized was Wayne Krout’s mother, shook her head. “I know what you’re thinking.”

I wondered why she had closed the doors.

“What kind of mother would do that to her son?” She shrugged. “I couldn’t forgive him for what he’s done. The shame he’s brought on the family. I can’t forgive myself for what he has become or what I’ve allowed him to get away with. What choice did I have?”

I shrugged, not having an answer for her.

“And then last night, after that father tried…” She trailed off, clenching her fists.

Thinking that she’d changed her mind after the attempt on her son’s life, I eyed the door behind her nervously. I didn’t want to hurt the old woman, but I wasn’t about to allow her to trap me here for the police to find.

She shook her head. “I saw what he was watching.”  Her voice was barely more than a whisper but I heard her pain.

“I knew what my son had done was terrible, but until I saw”—she looked around the room, eyes wild—”that depravity, I didn’t really comprehend how awful he is. Can you understand that?”

Remembering my own reaction to the video, I nodded.

“
I
did that.” Her eyes filled with tears as her voice shook with self-loathing. “I created that monster. Protected him.”

I wanted to tell her she wasn’t responsible, but I couldn’t find the words.

I flinched as she stepped toward me, but forced myself to stand my ground.

“Let me do it,” she pled. “Let me be the one to poison him. Give it to me.” She took a step closer to me, her palm outstretched.

I looked down at the box in my gloved hand, realizing that giving her the pills was my best chance of getting out of there safely.

I fingers trembled as I fumbled with the catch, but finally I got it open and poured the contents into her hand.

She stared tiny tablets. “He needs to take them both?”

“Don’t speak!” God ordered. “She hasn’t seen your face or heard your voice. She can’t identify you.”

Krout’s mother stared at my squeaking chest.

I held up one finger.

“One pill will be deadly?” the older woman asked.

I nodded.

A sad smile played at her lips. “Thank you.” She reached out, took the shaker from me, and dropped pills inside. They clattered against the metal, a death knell.

Slowly, I sidled past her, heading for the door.

“Wait.”

I froze, as though I were caught in some macabre game of freeze tag.

“You deserve a bonus for being so accommodating.” She pulled a small, velvet bag in the pocket of her trousers and held it out to me. “A token of my appreciation.”

Deciding it wasn’t time to say “You really shouldn’t have,” I carefully took the bag from her as the sound of approaching sirens reached us.

“You should get out of here,” she said, reaching for a bottle of gin.

I didn’t need to be told twice. I left the room, crept out of the house, and slipped out just as the first fire truck roared up to the burning car.

I ran as fast as I could toward the fence, Patrick’s “Don’t get caught. Don’t get caught” echoing in my head.

I fumbled my way up and over the fence, disconnected the ladder, and packed it up.

“That was close,” God opined.

“Too close.” My heartbeat still raced.

I glanced toward the house and saw that Wayne and his mother had been ushered to the side closest to the fence by one of the yellow-suited firefighters.

As I watched, the older woman handed her son a martini glass, clinked her own against it and said something before sipping her drink.

I turned away and headed back toward my cabin.

“Do you know why I want you to forgive your mother?” God said suddenly.

“Really? Now?” I retorted.

“It’s important.”

Before I could tell him that it wasn’t as important as saving my ass, I heard a weak cry. I stopped in my tracks. “Did you hear that?”

God didn’t reply.

“Help!”

I heard the voice again, somewhere off to my right. I turned in the direction. “Hello? Is someone there?”

“Help!”

I stowed the bag with the ladder behind a tree and moved in the direction of the voice. A great gust of wind carried some ash from the fire through the air, making it look like it was snowing. I glanced at the sky and realized the smoke was traveling in my direction. “Crap,” I muttered.

“What now?” Got asked.

“I think the fire is moving this way.” I cocked my head to the side and listened carefully, wondering if the voice was a trick my mind was playing on me.

I heard sobbing close by and hurried toward it. Suddenly, I saw a woman sitting on the ground. Her back was to me and she was crying.

“Hello?” I called softly.

She twisted around to see me. It was Shirley, the activities director. “My foot,” she cried.

I hurried toward her and saw her foot was wedged between two very large rocks. “How did you do that?” I blurted out without thinking.

“I wasn’t watching where I was going,” she sniffled. “It’s stuck.”

“I’ll get you out of here.” I grabbed hold of one of the rocks and tried to pull it toward me, but it wouldn’t budge. I changed position and pushed against it, and it still didn’t move. I frowned my frustration. “Let me try the other one.” I tried to roll the other rock with no luck.

The air was quickly becoming thick with smoke and I could hear the not-so-distant crackling and popping of the approaching flames.

“I’m going to burn to death,” Shirley giggled hysterically.

I looked up into the normally stern face of the other woman. “No you’re not.”

“Yes I am. All this time, trying to make amends, and I’m still going to burn.”

I shook my head. “Not if I have anything to say about it.” I shoved at the rock again.

“Technically,” God supplied helpfully, “chances are you’ll die of smoke inhalation before the fire ever reaches you.”

“Good to know,” I muttered beneath my breath, struggling to move the damn rock. “We just need to loosen this,” I told Shirley. “If I had a better handhold on this one…” I succumbed to a coughing fit as the smoke grew denser.

“I already tried that.” She held up a broken stick. “You have to go.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

She reached out and grabbed my arm. “You can’t die here. You have your niece to think about.”

I blinked. Part of me knew she was right. But how could I live with myself if I let this woman die here?

I stood up and kicked the rock, hoping that would dislodge it, but all I did was hurt my foot. I hopped around, holding it, struggling to breathe. Time was running out. I looked around on the ground, trying to find something to use to dig up the rock.

Finally I remembered the spoon. I yanked it out of my pocket, dropped to the ground and began digging wildly with it, dislodging dirt like I was carving my way out of prison.

“Hurry up,” God urged.

“I’m doing my best,” I panted.

“I know,” Shirley said. “I appreciate it, I really do, but I really think you should run.”

I jabbed the spoon beneath the rock one last time. “I’m going to give it a good shove,” I told her. “Be ready to pull your foot out.”

I gathered all my strength and pushed the rock as hard as I could. It moved slightly, but not enough for her to free herself.

“Almost there.” I coughed. I pushed it again and felt it move a bit more.

Shirley groaned, the new position of the rock causing her additional pain.

“Third time’s a charm,” I recited, giving it a good shove. It still wasn’t enough. Dropping back on my haunches, I stared at the rock and dismay. I had given it my all, but the fire was getting closer and I was really starting to panic. “Maybe I can get help,” I said.

Shirley nodded, despite the fact neither of us believed there was enough time to do that. “Go.”

I stood slowly, knowing it was a good chance I was leaving this woman here to die a horrible death. “I’m sorry.”

She smiled kindly at me. “No matter what happens, know that I forgive you.”

Forgive.

I mentally cursed Armani for her crazy predictions. Then I remembered what she had said, “Give for.”

“Give for. Give for,” I muttered aloud. It had to mean something, her predictions always did. Then I remembered the time she’d told me to “Meet the man.” I had thought it had meant I should go out on a date with a certain guy (who had later tried to kill me), but what it actually meant was something DeeDee had barked at me—“Meat the man” —ea suggestion to swing a leg of lamb at another assassin’s head.

DeeDee had terrible grammar. Armani had trouble with homonyms.

“Of course,” I cried.

“Of course?” Shirley and God asked simultaneously.

“Give four,” I said as though that made perfect sense. I dropped to my knees again. “I’m going to shove it four times. On the fourth time you’ll be able to get your foot free.” I took a deep breath, concentrated, and began to push on the rock, counting out loud. “One. Two.” The stone began to rock out of the ground. “Three.” I pushed as hard as I could on the fourth. “Four.”

Suddenly, there was enough space for Shirley to pull her foot free. I dropped the rock with a tired sigh.

After that, it should have been just a matter of hauling Shirley to her feet, draping her arm around my shoulders, and hauling ass out of there in a dangerous version of a three-legged race. But things weren’t that easy.

The stress and the smoke had conspired to make both of lose our sense of direction.  We didn’t know which way to head.

Then I heard my name being sung loud and clear. “Maggie! Maggie!”

I rushed toward it, knowing the magical voice was a beacon that would lead us to safety.  Shirley limped and groaned, but I kept dragging her toward the siren’s song.

“Maggie! Maggie!” the woman continued to sing, the sweet, angelic sound somehow rising above the wind and my thundering heartbeat, guiding me.

“We’re here,” I shouted, even though my lungs burned from the smoke and effort, when I thought we were close to the source of the voice. “We’re here.”

Then shadowy figures emerged from the trees.

“Here,” I shouted again.

A group of three firefighters rushed toward us.

“She’s hurt,” I said, handing Shirley over to them.

They helped her hop away. I followed closely behind, still convinced I could hear a woman calling my name.

Soon we stumbled onto the path that led from the cabins to the dining hall. That’s when I saw her. Gladys stood in front of our cabin.

Hand over her diaphragm, she was singing my name with all her might.

It was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.

Spotting me, she rushed past Shirley and the firemen and enveloped me in a bear hug.

“You scared me,” she admonished.

“You saved me,” I replied. “How did you do that, Gladys?”

“That’s just the name I use when I want to fly under the radar.” She linked her arm through mine and tugged me forward so we fell into step behind the firemen and pressed a bottle of water into my hand. “Drink. You look like you need it.”

“I need something stronger than this,” I told her. I sipped the water as she continued to talk.

“The name the world knows me by is Arianna Puchelo.” She waited a beat as though she expected the name might mean something to me.

It didn’t.

“I’m a professional opera singer.”

“Really?”

She laughed. “Really.”

“Well then, no offense, but what the hell are you doing here?”

“I was getting burnt out.” She glanced back at the encroaching fire. “Who knew it would be literal?”

I chuckled. “Okay, I get the need for R&R, but why here?”

“My vocal cords are strained. I needed a retreat.”

“And you couldn’t afford anything better than this dump?” I asked, wondering what professional opera singers get paid.

She laughed again. “After traveling the world, I wanted to return to my roots. This reminds me of where I came from. Before this was a retreat, it was a summer camp. I worked here as a teenager.”

“And the silence thing?”

She smiled. “I’m known for my voice. Sometimes it seems like all I am. I wanted to leave it behind.”

I nodded my understanding. “But you used it to help me.”

She shrugged. “My manager may never forgive me.” Then she dropped her voice to a whisper. “And he’ll never forgive me for the media attention that’s sure to happen once we tell them about Millie, Linda, and Donna.”

In all the chaos, I’d forgotten about the rotten trio. “You think it was them that set the fire?”

She shrugged. “Don’t you?”

I did, but I didn’t tell her that. Instead, I took another swig of water. All I was thinking was that it would be a very bad thing to get caught up in a police investigation.

“We’ll have to tell them,” she continued.

I hoped not. It would really screw with my “Don’t get caught” plans.

When we got to the dining hall, the cops were already there.  I fought back the panic that churned in my gut. I considered going to hide in the woods, but decided that would make me look suspicious.

Besides, someone was handing out ice cream sandwiches.

So Gladys and I sat on the steps of the dining hall, eating ice cream sandwiches, watching Shirley get carted off by an ambulance, and eavesdropping.

We heard a pair of cops discussing the fact that numerous attendees had told them that Millie, Linda, and Donna had been spotted with gasoline containers.

Then we heard a third cop say the trio had crashed their car a little bit down the road and confessed to the crime of setting fire to Wayne Krout’s car. Apparently, they were part of a group called, Mothers Against Pedophiles, or M.A.P.s.

I shook my head at that. Armani had been right about watching out for maps.