Maggie Lee (Book 7): The Hitwoman and the 7 Cops (11 page)

“Where is everyone?” I asked her.

“Dining room,” she panted.

“Head for the dining room,” I told Armani.

She glanced back at me, a strange look in her eyes.  “Did the dog tell you that?”

I forced out a laugh. “Sure.”

Susan, Leslie, Marlene and Zeke were all sitting around the dining room table. None of them looked happy.

“Food’s here.” I forced a smile, trying to improve the mood of the room.

“What happened to you, handsome?” Armani limped over to Zeke to get a better look at the cut over his eye.

“A fist,” he murmured dryly, arching his other eyebrow at me.

Grinning, I put the food down on the table and stepped back, indicating to Brian Griswald that he should do the same.  He barely got out of the way before Susan, Leslie and Marlene fell upon it like a bunch of hyenas ripping into a water buffalo.

Keeping a watchful eye on the frenzy of activity that consisted of arguing and dishing out food, Griswald asked Armani. “What was the message? You never said.”

She scrunched up her nose at him. “The message wasn’t for you, Mr. Skeptic Bossypants.”

“Uh-oh,” Zeke grinned. “Someone is not on Senorita Vasquez’s nice list.”

“But you could be on my naughty list.” She winked cheekily at Zeke.

“Tempting.” Zeke waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Armani’s rich, warm laughter filled the room, soothing the jagged edges of noise caused by my family’s bickering.

“The message,” Brian said forcefully.

“I told you.” Armani flicked her hair disdainfully.

“Just tell me.” I filched an egg roll from a plate in the middle of the table. It was so hot I ended up juggling it back and forth between my hands.

“Can we
please
pretend we’re civilized human beings and sit down to eat?” Susan’s request was so shrill I had the urge to plug my ears.

“Hungry!” DeeDee barked, reminding me that not all of us
were
humans.

“Feed the beast,” God grumbled, having settled once again on my shoulder

“Steamed chicken and broccoli for DeeDee,” Leslie cooed, spooning a large portion onto a plate and lowering it toward the floor.

“We are not feeding a dog on my china,” Susan bellowed. Her wild, wide-eyes made her look a lot like my mom, her sister, on her bad days.

Leslie’s movement halted halfway to the floor.

DeeDee stared at the plate, drool dripping from her jowls.

“Ugh. Disgusting,” God groaned, sticking his head under the collar of my shirt so that he wouldn’t have to witness the display.

Leslie looked at her half-crazed sister for a long moment before calmly stating, “It’s
our
china.”

She put it on the ground with a resounding clatter.  DeeDee didn’t wait for an invitation. She went at her food with gusto.

Following the dog’s example, I took a bite of my eggroll. It was still too hot, and burned the roof of my mouth.

Susan weakly sank into the nearest chair moaning, “This is all Archie’s fault.”

“About that message?” Brian Griswald said in a tone that indicated he was just about out of patience.

Armani shrugged and looked me in the eye. “He wanted me to tell you he forgives you.”

He
forgave
me
? What the hell had I ever done to him except save his ungrateful butt? I sucked in an outraged gasp and choked on the eggroll.

“What do you mean he forgives her?” Brian asked Armani.

Coughing, spluttering, and spraying a mouthful of food onto the floor, I clutched my throat, unable to breathe.

Mike eyed me suspiciously, probably thinking that anyone who subscribes to
Piggy Magazine
isn’t going to choke on a mere mouthful of food.

“The Heimlich!” God shouted, pounding on my shoulder with his little feet, because it was the only place he could reach. “She needs the Heimlich maneuver.”

“Oh my God, she’s choking!” Marlene screamed.

“Are you choking?” the detective and Zeke asked simultaneously.

Griswald pounded on my back, but whatever was lodged in my airway stayed in place.

The room dimmed as I stumbled backward, trying to breathe.

“She’s choking!” Marlene screamed again. “Somebody help her!”

Actually, I was suffocating, but I couldn’t speak to tell her that.

Leaping from his chair, Zeke caught me before I fell. He too banged on the spot between my shoulder blades to no avail.

“Thrust!” God shouted. “Don’t you morons know anything? You need to thrust. Thrust!”

“Maggie?” Zeke shouted, holding me upright against him. “Maggie stay—”

Before I knew what was happening, I was ripped from his arms.

“Aaaah,” God screamed as he lost his grip on my shirt and fell.

I felt a sharp pain in my belly as something was driven into it with considerable force. The second jab dislodged the piece of food that had blocked my windpipe. I gasped for air, greedily sucking it into my lungs as tears streamed from my eyes.

“Ewwwwww!” God shrieked.

I looked down and saw DeeDee prone on the floor and the lizard balanced on the dog’s outstretched tongue.

“Of all the repulsive, abhorrent, foul, nasty, loathsome, disgusting things,” God wailed, sliding off her tongue onto the ground. “I shall never recover from the trauma.”

DeeDee grinned up at me. “Him caught.”

Dry-heaving, God scurried away.

“Are you okay?” Leslie and Brian Griswald asked simultaneously.

“This never would have happened if you’d sat down to eat,” Susan lectured.

“You gave us a scare, Maggie,” Zeke chided from beside me.

Marlene though, stayed silent. Staring past and above me with eyes as big as silver dollars.

It was then I realized there was someone else in the room and that whoever it was had their hands on my arms, making certain I didn’t pitch over.

I turned slowly to see my savior.

The blond, blue-eyed man with bulging biceps peered closely at me. “Feel better?”

I nodded dumbly at the man who’d saved me twice that day. This time instead of his uniform, he wore a tight T-shirt that showed off his defined physique.

Sergeant Victor grinned. “Cool.”

“Who the hell are you, cutie?” Armani asked.

“Ben Atwood.” He waved a greeting at everyone around the table.

“I thought you were Sergeant Victor,” I managed to choke out.

He chuckled. “Nah, that’s just part of my act.”

“Act?”  I gave Zeke a weak grin as he helped me sit down on a chair.

He shrugged apologetically. “I’m a stripper.”

“A stripper!” Susan gasped, burying her head in her hands.

“There is a god,” Armani rejoiced triumphantly.

Zeke bent and whispered in my ear. “Do you have any idea of what’s going on?”

I shook my head. “Not really.”

“I’m not going to be a stripper forever,” Ben Atwood explained. “But it’s a good way to pay the bills while I go through paramedic training.”

“That’s why you’re called Doc.” I was unduly proud of myself for figuring
something
out.

“Yup.”

“Was that the Heimlich maneuver you used on our Maggie?” Aunt Leslie asked.

“Yes, ma’am. I was at the door when I heard someone shouting that someone was choking and needed help, so I just let myself in. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course.” Leslie waved a hand over the Chinese food. “Join us.”

“What’s the Heimlich thingie?” Armani asked, mentally undressing my stripper savior with her eyes.

Considering what he did for a living, Ben seemed to find her blatant perusal to be surprisingly offensive. His body posture stiffened and his voice became very formal. “A couple of well-delivered thrusts use air pressure to forcefully dislodge whatever is blocking a choking victim’s windpipe.”

“Thrusts!” Armani crowed victoriously. “I knew it.” She gave me a thumbs-up.

I ignored her.

“So wait,” Marlene said slowly. “If you’re not a cop, why did you chase off Wally?”

“Can we get back to why she choked in the first place?” the detective interrupted. “Why does your father want you to know he forgives you?”

I shrugged. “How should I know?” I turned to Armani. “Was there another part of the message?”

She shook her head. “He just said to tell you that he forgives you.”

“And you don’t have any idea what that means?” Griswald asked, clearly not believing me.

I shook my head helplessly. “I don’t.”

“I do,” Leslie murmured.

All eyes in the room focused on her.

“This is all my fault.”

Chapter Thirteen

Leslie’s gaze skittered nervously around the room before finally landing on me. “I’m sorry.”

“About what?” I asked, bewildered.

“I made a mistake.” Leslie bowed her head.

I wasn’t in the mood to play Twenty Questions. “What did you do?”

“I told them where to find him.”

“Told who?” Griswald and I both blurted out with the same note of panic making our tones strident.

My stomach somersaulted nervously at the thought someone might now my father’s location. Sure the man drives me crazy, but he’s still my dad.

“Blanche.”

“Who the hell is Blanche?” Brian thundered.

I wondered how I’d ever thought he was bashful.

“My sponsor,” Leslie whispered, eyes wide.

“Wait,” I said, catching up to what was being said. “The one who was in cahoots to kill Marlene and me?”

“Cahoots?” Armani mocked.

“Shut up,” I growled.

She pouted prettily, pretending to look offended.

“Blanche,” I tried again. “The one who was mixed-up with that whole deal that ended up with Dad going into the Witness Protection Program?”

Leslie nodded.

“But she’s supposed to be locked up.” I turned an accusing eye on Griswald. The detective shrugged helplessly.

“She might be,” Leslie offered agreeably.

“She
might
be?” I raised my voice. “
Might
be? You don’t know? And you offered up Dad’s whereabouts to a homicidal criminal?”

“Easy, Maggie,” Zeke interjected in his most soothing tone.

I rounded on him, ready to rip his interfering head off.

Dabbing at the cup above his eye with a paper napkin, Zeke focused on my traitorous aunt. “Leslie?”

Chewing on her lower lip, she met his gaze nervously.

Zeke gave her a reassuring smile. “
When
did you tell this Blanche woman where to find Archie?”

“A while ago.”

Digging my palm into the space between my eyes, I tried to rub away the tension headache I was forming.

Zeke, keeping his tone soft, like he was talking to a skittish horse, looked for clarification. “A while ago as in a couple of hours ago, or as in a couple of days ago.”

“Weeks ago.”

Detective Brian Griswald’s sigh of relief was audible.

I closed my eyes, striving to sound half as reasonable as Zeke. “That doesn’t explain why you think Dad was calling to forgive me.”

“Well what else could he possibly be blaming you for?” Leslie countered.

I shook my head. A conversation with the grammatically-challenged dog would make more sense.

“So you don’t know where Archie Lee is?” the detective asked.

“Of course not. Why would I?” Leslie answered, seemingly perplexed by the question.

Griswald turned his attention on Armani. “But you do?”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“But he got a message to you?”

Armani tossed her hair. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“
How
did he get the message to you?” I interjected before their squabble could gain steam.

“He called me.”

My head pounded. “In a meta-physical psychic way?

Armani looked at me like I was crazier than her predictions. “Are you loco? He called my phone.” She held up the device and waved it at me for emphasis.

“Give me your phone.” Brian Griswald held out his hand so she could give it to him.

“Get a warrant.” Armani glared at him defiantly, hiding the phone behind her back.

“Give the man the damn thing,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Screw you,” she countered.

“Ladies,” Zeke interjected. “Perhaps—”

“Shut up!” Armani and I yelled simultaneously.

“The food’s getting cold,” Aunt Susan said mildly. “Won’t you join us, Mr. Atwood?”

All eyes in the room focused on the stripper-EMT.

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Please?” Marlene pleaded softly.

He looked down at her and smiled. “I’d love to.”

“Lovely!” Susan beamed in all her Stepford-hostess glory. “If everyone would just have a seat…”

Poor Detective Griswald blinked rapidly, obviously unsure of what to do next. I decided for him by snatching the phone out of Armani’s hand.

“Thief!”

Since I’m a paid killer, being called a thief didn’t bother me in the least.  I calmly held out the phone to Brian.

“You stole from the handicapped,” Armani railed theatrically. “There’s a special place in Hell for you.”

“This”—I waved my empty hand to encompass the room and its inhabitants—“
this
is Hell.”

Griswald stared at the phone in my outstretched hand, but didn’t take it. “Technically she’s right,” he muttered. “You don’t have her permission to have that.”

I frowned. “I thought you wanted it.”

“I do, but…”

Armani lunged for the phone. I pivoted away, holding it so that she couldn’t reach it.

“No fighting at the dinner table, girls,” Susan bellowed.

Armani and I hesitated like we were caught up in some weird version of freeze tag.

“I mean it,” Susan banged on the table with a pair of chopsticks.

“Mean what, Honeybun?” another voice asked from the room’s doorway.

We all turned to look at Bob, Susan’s ex, lounging in the doorway, watching the drama with a bemused expression.

A flying chopstick hit him in the face, the other bounced ineffectually off the doorway trim.

All eyes slid back to Susan, who was now empty-handed. She glared at the latest visitor with a white-hot fury that threatened to turn the man to a pile of ash.