Maggie Lee (Book 7): The Hitwoman and the 7 Cops (17 page)

At some point I wondered if he was judging me, but when I looked up, he was nowhere to be seen. Feeling more alone than ever, I cried harder.

Finally, when I physically couldn’t shed another tear, I lifted my head.

“You take care of those you love.” Perched on the dashboard, God spoke softly, as though he was afraid that by commenting, he might set off another waterworks session.

Sniffling, I nodded my agreement. “I try.”

“So are you going to try this wacky plan?”

I shrugged, spotting him back in his usual spot on the dashboard.

“If you don’t, you know your father will probably get caught sneaking in to see your mother and that Loretta will lose her shop. You know that, don’t you?”

I sighed. “I know.”

“So what are you waiting for? Go get ’em, champ.” He reared up on his back legs and did his best Rocky-inspired victory dance.

Chuckling, I climbed out of the car, walked up to the door of Dad’s room and knocked.  Looking back at my car, I couldn’t help but grin as I saw the lizard shadowboxing.

My amusement dissipated when I didn’t hear any noise in the room and my father didn’t answer.

I knocked again. Louder. More insistent.

My stomach fluttered nervously. Balling my hands into fists, I fought the wave of anxiety engulfing me. “He wouldn’t do this,” I whispered to myself. “He told me he’d wait. He promised. He wouldn’t break his promise.”

I pounded on the door with all my might, panicked, because Dad had broken his promise before.

“Shut up!” Someone from another room yelled.

“Sleepin’ here,” someone else shouted.

I looked back at the car. God wasn’t visible.

If I’d had any more tears left, I would have shed them, not only because I was frustrated and disappointed, but for all the other times Dad had let me down.

Hanging my head, I shuffled back to the car, knowing it was only a matter of time until he got himself caught. “It’s not my problem,” I muttered. “Everyone else is not my problem.” I reached for the car door.

“Where you goin’, Maggie May?”

I turned slowly, convinced my mind was playing tricks on me.

There Dad stood, less than ten yards away.

He hadn’t lied to me. He’d done what he’d promised.

The relief was so strong, I sagged back against the car, grateful for its support.

“I got you breakfast.” Oblivious to my reaction to his arrival, Dad held up a greasy paper bag and a cardboard tray that held two Styrofoam cups. “And coffee.”

Jovially unaware that I’d just been thinking the worst of him, Dad climbed into the passenger seat of the car. “Let’s eat while it’s hot.”

Slowly, trying to regain some control over my ricocheting emotions, I slid behind the steering wheel, forcing myself to take some deep, steadying breaths.

“I got your favorite.” Dad placed the coffee in the car’s cup holders and handed me a pile of napkins.

“Great.” Chances were, he hadn’t gotten my favorite; he always got the preferences of the Lee sisters mixed up, but I was grateful for him
thinking
he’d gotten something I’d enjoy.

He handed me a foil wrapped sandwich, which smelled heavenly.

“Thanks, Dad.” Impulsively I leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His beard tickled my chin. I wasn’t thanking him for the food. I was thanking him for not taking off.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. It’s Taylor ham, egg, and cheese on a roll. That’s right, isn’t it?”

I was so grateful for his effort I would have agreed, even if he’d told me that it was liverwurst and grape jelly, but the fact that he’d actually remembered, and gotten my favorite, left me dumbfounded.

He frowned. “Did I get it wrong?”

“No, no,” I spluttered. “It’s right. It’s perfect.”

He beamed. “Eat up and then you can tell me if you’ve figured out a way for me to see my Mary.”

“I have,” I said, but it came out a garbled mess because I’d taken a big bite out of the sandwich.

“You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full,” God lectured, repeating something I’d told him plenty of times.

I chewed, swallowed, and took a swig of coffee. “I have, but it’s a crappy plan.”

God groaned at my bad joke.

I grinned.

Chapter Twenty

As plans go, Zeke’s worked flawlessly. Dad put on the plumber’s uniform, smeared himself with DeeDee’s poop that I’d collected, covered his face with the respirator, waved the official clipboard and was waved right in.

I, on the other hand, had to go through the usual official rigmarole to see my own mother, which meant that my father got to her room at least fifteen minutes before I did.

I paused outside the room and knocked timidly.

“Put a little elbow grease into it,” God urged from his hiding spot in my bosom.

I knocked louder, but there was no response.

“Just let yourself in,” the lizard said impatiently.

“They could be… you know,” I whispered.

“They could be what?” he asked, and then apparently realized the answer. “You humans are so prudish about sex.”

I tried to decide if it would be worse to walk in on my parents doing the deed or listen to a lecture from the snotty reptile on the subject.

“After all, your species, most species, wouldn’t exist if they didn’t get down and do the nasty,” the lizard opined, making up my mind for me.

Holding my breath and squeezing my eyes shut, since I couldn’t close my ears, I yanked open the door to my mother’s room and jumped inside, closing the door behind me.

I stood there, seeing shooting stars on the backs of my eyelinds from having scrunched my eyes so tightly, unsure of what to do.

“You okay, Maggie May?” Dad asked.

I risked opening just one eye.

He and Mom were holding each other, but they were upright and fully clothed.

I exhaled and opened my other eye. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Just absurdly childish,” God whispered.

Grateful for his discretion, since neither of my parents stared at my chest, I didn’t argue with him.

“You look beautiful.” Mom practically floated across the room toward me. The years haven’t dimmed her beauty and, on her good days, she seems to be buoyed by an ethereal grace that made her glow.

This was a good day.

A painful lump rose in my throat as I wished she could be like this all the time. As she hugged me tightly, I blinked rapidly to dispel the tears that threatened to tarnish the moment.

“The stench,” God gasped.

I wrinkled my nose as a whiff of dog waste hit me. “You’re gorgeous, Mom.”

Hearing the strain in my voice, she leaned back so that she could get a better look at me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, Mom. I’m good.” I bit back a hysterical chuckle. Because she’d hugged Dad, she now had dog poop stains on her clothes, which no doubt meant that I did too since she’d hugged me.

“Your father tells me you’re looking for something.”

I nodded. I was looking for a lot of things. Help. Security. Inner Peace.  “Something that belonged to Loretta.”

“I have it.” Her eyes danced with mischief. “But you have to tell me why you need it.”

“There may be a piece of paper inside. Without that paper, Loretta will lose her shop.”

Mom looked more horrified than I felt. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“I think she’s trying to keep it a secret.” I winced realizing I’d just violated Aunt Loretta’s confidence.

“We have to do something.”

“We need the watch, darling,” Dad prompted.

“Of course. Of course.” She fluttered her hands nervously. “Where is it?”

My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. This had all been for nothing. She didn’t have it. I had no idea how to find the paper.

“It’s in your treasure chest,” Dad told her gently.

“Oh. Wonderful.” She bestowed a beneficent smile on him.

He beamed back, obviously still besotted after all these years.

In that moment I wondered whether Aunt Loretta’s never-ending quest to find true love was fueled by the knowledge that her sister had it.

“Bottom drawer.” Mom interrupted my thoughts, pointing to the bottom drawer of her dresser.

Dad pulled out a locked strong box and put it on top of the unmade bed.

Mom bit her lower lip worriedly. “I don’t have the key.”

“Never fear,” Dad said with a twinkle in his eye.

I suppressed the urge to groan, knowing he’d say he could pick the lock.

“You’re always close to my heart, my Mary.” He pulled at a chain that hung around his neck and out popped a key.

Mom clapped her delight.

I did my best to ignore the pang of guilt I felt for assuming he’d unlock her treasures using criminal means.

Dad unlocked the box, but left it to Mom to raise the lid.

She did so with trembling hands. “So much beauty.”

She lifted a yellowed photograph from the box and smiled at it. “So much beauty.” A tear slid down her cheek. Her lips began to quiver.

“There, there,” Dad soothed, moving to wrap an arm around her shaking shoulders.

I desperately wanted to know what she saw in the picture, but didn’t dare move for fear of upsetting her.

Dad plucked the photograph from her fingers and put it, facedown on the bed. “Remember, we’re trying to help Loretta.”

Together they rummaged through the contents of the box.

Feeling like I’d be intruding if I offered to help, I stayed where I was.

God scrambled out of my bra and onto my shoulder to whisper in my ear, “What’s so beautiful?”

I shrugged.

He skittered around the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. He whispered in my other ear, “You reek of dog shit.”

I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep from giggling hysterically. I didn’t want to distract my parents from their task. For one thing, I really needed them to find the dingbat. For another, it was nice to see them working side-by-side. It reminded me of happier times when Mom hadn’t lost her grip on reality, and Dad wasn’t embroiled in one of his hare-brained criminal schemes.

They systematically emptied the contents of the box onto the bed, a combination of photographs, feathers, coins, movie ticket stubs, and jewelry.

Then, Dad popped out the false bottom, using a bent paper clip that he’d brought just for that purpose.

Mom pulled out an ornate pocket watch and turned toward me.

Realizing it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for the woman in a mental institution to spot a lizard on her daughter’s shoulder, God dove down the back of my shirt.

I shivered as I felt him scrabbling to hold onto my bra hooks.

“Here you go.” Mom held out the watch to me, dangling it from its chain.

I took it gingerly, unsure of whether or not it held the key to Loretta’s future.

“Push the button at the top,” Dad suggested.

Holding my breath, I pressed. My heart stuttered as it sprang open and a piece of folded, aged paper fell out and drifted to the floor.

I picked it up carefully and unfolded it. Skimming it quickly, I realized it was just what I was looking for.

I grinned.

“That’s it?” Mom asked.

“This is it.” Impulsively I threw my arms around her, dog excrement and all.  “Thank you.”

“And now we’ve got to go, my dear.” Taking the watch from me, he replaced it in the box, put the false bottom in place, and quickly refilled the empty space with Mom’s treasures.

He moved too quickly for me to see the picture that had made Mom cry.

“I’ll see you soon?” Mom asked tremulously.

“Absolutely,” Dad and I lied simultaneously.

I felt bad for lying to her, but I suspected the truth would have hurt her.

She smiled, pressed a kiss to my cheek and her lips to Dad’s lips and then waved good-bye.

Dad and I left her room, closing the door behind us.

“Where to, Maggie May?”

“You have
got
to turn yourself in now.” I steeled myself for whatever argument he was going to throw my way.

“I will, sweetheart, but first—”

“No buts, Dad.”

The moment we were back in the car, Dad said, “We need to make one quick stop.”

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. “No.”

“Please, Maggie May. It’s important. I want to show you something.”

I glanced sideways at him. He seemed sincere.

“Don’t trust him,” God opined from the depths of my bra.

“I promised I’d get you into see Mom and I did. Now I need you to keep your promise to me. I need you to turn yourself back into the Marshal Service.”

“I will, sweetheart. I want to say good-bye to your sisters. Can we stop at the cemetery?”

“They’re dead, Dad. They’re not going to know if you stop by.”

Dad’s sharp indrawn breath was the only audible sound in the car.

We rode along in uncomfortable silence. Guilt ate away at me with every rotation of the tires.

Finally God murmured softly, “That was a tad harsh.”

Wordlessly, I turned the car in the direction of the cemetery. I hadn’t been there since Theresa’s funeral, but I knew the way by heart. I’d made the trip enough times after Darlene died.

“Why did you call Armani and what are you forgiving me for?”

“I wanted you to know that I forgive you for thinking the worst of me.”

I frowned. “It’s not like you gave me much choice. You’re not exactly Father of the Year material.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t love you,” he chided softly.

A painful lump rose in my throat. I wanted to believe him, but part of me thought he was just pulling another con and I was his mark.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Dad said as I pulled through the cemetery gates.

I didn’t answer, instead focusing on the narrow rode that wound through the rows of headstones.  When I got to the row where the family plot is located, I pulled to the side and parked.

Dad got out and looked at me expectantly.

I stubbornly stayed behind the wheel.

“C’mon,” he cajoled. “I want you to see something.”

I shook my head.

Shrugging, he walked away.

“If you leave him alone out there, he could make a run for it,” God warned.