The Hitwoman and the Poisoned Apple (Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman Book 8) (15 page)

“Tonight?”

I remembered how hot he’d felt as he kissed me, the way his mouth had practically burned mine. Had I left him to die in the backyard of the B&B?

I fumbled for my phone, dropped it between my feet, and hit my head on the bottom of the steering wheel with a resounding
thunk
as I tried to retrieve it.

“Ow!” I reached for it again, fumbling for what felt like eternity, my seatbelt threatening to cut off my air supply permanently.

“As much as I’m enjoying this odd game of Hot Potato you’re playing with yourself,” God said in a voice laced with a thousand insults, “do you mind me asking what you think you’re doing?”

My fingers closed around the phone and I raised it overhead victoriously. “Got it!” I was breathless from having been bent over with the seatbelt cutting into my waist. “We’ve got to warn him.”

“Who?”

“Patrick.”

Annoyed, the lizard puffed out the orange dewlap at the base of his throat. “Warn him about what?”

“He was poisoned. You just said so.”

“No. I said the poisoner
tried
their best. But I saved the day.” He stuck out his chest like he thought he was some sort of reptilian version of Superman.

“You?” the dog piped up incredulously.

“Brains over brawn, beast,” the lizard snapped.

DeeDee bared her teeth, a growl rumbling from the depths of her chest.

“How?” I asked trying to gently diffuse the tension.

“Liquid. Poured it right in his bottle of beer.”

“I meant, how did you save him?” I prompted.

“I spilled the beer.”

“Brawn,” DeeDee accused.

“She has a point,” I inserted before God could argue. “So was it his wife?”

“No.”

Patrick’s faith in her innocence had been well-placed. I didn’t find comfort in that. Remembering what Griswald had said about poisoning being the work of a significant other or family member, a terrible suspicion filled me. “Please tell me it wasn’t his son.”

“Patricide?” God asked. “No.”

“Who?” DeeDee parked.

“First let me tell you about my investigation. Getting into the house itself was even more treacherous than I’d imagined.”

I could tell he was about to launch into a long and dramatic storytelling, but I was still worried I’d left my almost lover to die in the dirt so I interrupted, “You’re sure Patrick is okay?”

“He’s fine. An idiot. But besides that, he’s fine.” He flicked his tail with annoyance. “I, on the other hand, am exhausted from my ordeal and would like to sleep in my own bed.”

“Okay,” I agreed.

“That means drive, biped.”

Slipping the car into gear, I drove while he spun a tale that I’m fairly certain he took a fair amount of poetic license with. Finally, as we pulled into the driveway, he got to the part where he would dramatically unmask the would-be murderer.

He paused, waiting until I’d parked the car and gave him my full attention before making the reveal. Its impact was lessened somewhat by the rhythmic snoring coming from the back seat. The dog had been thoroughly unimpressed with his spy exploits and decided her time would be better sent napping. Not that I could blame her, hearing how he’d curled up in a corner, wrapping himself in a dust bunny as the perfect camouflage disguise in order to eavesdrop on Patrick, his wife, her lover, and her lover’s husband, wasn’t exactly riveting.

“So who did it?” I asked the lizard.

“I can’t believe you haven’t figured it out yet,” God mocked.

“I wasn’t the one pawing through their personal possessions and spying on them.”

“All to save a life,” he reminded me.  “And I did. Without my intervention, the dog spoiler would be…” He flipped over, prone on his back and stuck his legs straight up in the air in his best imitation of death.

“How do you know the person isn’t trying again as we speak?”

“Out of poison. Once he used it up in Patrick’s beer, he hid the empty bottle in the wife’s pocketbook.” He flipped himself back upright and strolled along the dashboard. “Not bad as far as framing jobs go. Have you figured it out yet?”

He waited expectantly.

“Molly’s husband?” I guessed.

“Excellent!” He waved his tail in celebration and damned me with faint praise. “There’s hope for you yet. You continue to surprise me.”

“There were only two other people in the house,” I said dryly. “And you used the pronoun ‘he.’”

“But you put the puzzle pieces together. Give yourself credit,” the lizard urged.

“How the hell am I supposed to warn Patrick who’s trying to kill him?”

“That,” he said smugly, “is not my problem. I
did
my job.”

I took the dog and lizard back to the B&B hoping I’d find Patrick waiting there, but he wasn’t.

Deciding my best chance to warn him would probably be first thing in the morning, I drove back to his house, parking just a few doors down and settled in for the night, like some poor, lovelorn stalker.

I’d bribed the cat to come along for company, by giving her the nighttime dose of painkillers early. I’d become a pill pusher.

The cat napped on the seat beside me, whiskers twitching the whole time.

I spent a good hour telling myself how pathetic I was for trying to find out who was framing Patrick’s wife.  I’d worked myself into a state of self-loathing and had convinced myself that anyone with an iota of self-respect would drive back to the B&B and sleep in her own bed when I saw him.

At first I thought I’d dozed off and was dreaming when I saw the figure slip through the shadows toward the Mulligan house. I slapped my cheeks, blinked rapidly and leaned forward to make sure I saw what I thought I did.

I shook the cat awake. “Hey, do you seem him?”

Claws outstretched, she swiped at my hand, leaving a burning scratch across my wrist.

“Ow!”

“Don’t shake me,” the cat ordered, narrowing her one good eye at me.

“Sorry, but I need you to tell me if you see something.”

I reached to pick her up.

She flexed her claws, warning me off.

I glanced over at the man who was circling Patrick’s car. “Please? It’s important.”

“Fine,” she acquiesced.

I picked up the drugged cat so that she could peer over the dashboard and tell me whether or not I was seeing things. That’s how crazy my life is.

“What about him?” Piss asked.

“You can see him?”

“What kind of drugs are
you
on, sugar? Of course I can see him. I’m only half blind.”

Light glinted off whatever metal tool the man carried, but it was too dark to make out his face.

Holding the cat against my shoulder, I watched in horror as he dropped to the ground and slid his torso under Patrick’s car.

Now I’m not a mechanic, but even I knew that he was probably cutting the brakelines… or worse.

He made quick handiwork of his task and was back on his feet within a minute, slinking away into the night.

“This is not good,” I muttered.

“No,” Piss agreed. “It sure isn’t.”

“I’ve got to warn Patrick.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.” I gingerly placed the cat back on her seat.

I stared at Patrick’s car worriedly. What if I fell asleep and missed Patrick getting in the car to go for a ride? Or what if his wife or son got in the car?

“There must be some way to get his attention,” I murmured.

“Smash the window,” Piss suggested.

“The drugs have messed with your thinking,” I replied.

“No. If you smash the window, he’ll come outside to investigate and you can warn him.”

It wasn’t the best of plans, but it was the only one we had, so I decided to go for it. “Okay. “ I reached for the door handle.

“Wait!” Piss  ordered. “Write it down.”

“Write what down?”

“Brakes tampered with. Write it down. Give it me. Smash the window. Run like the Hounds of Hell are hot on your tail. He’ll recognize me and I’ll give him the note.”

“How?’

“I’ll trip him if need be.”

“No, how will you hand him the note. You don’t have hands.”

“I’ll carry it in my mouth. It may end up with some puncture holes, but he’ll get the message.”

So I scribbled the note on the back of a greasy fast food receipt, parked a couple of blocks away, and crept up to the Mulligan house carrying a bossy cat and a tire iron.

I put her down at the bottom of the driveway. Sidling up to the car, I raised the tire iron overhead.

“Hit the door first,” Piss suggested. “If a rolling shopping cart can set off a car alarm, a good whack should do it.”

I changed the angle of my attack and took a deep breath. Patrick would definitely not be happy. I was about to damage his property and violate the Don’t Get Caught rule.

“And don’t drop the tire iron,” Piss advised. “You don’t want to leave prints.”

Every muscle tensed as I swung the piece of metal at the car door. It connected with a resounding
thunk
and a corresponding shockwave of pain traveled up my arm. The unexpected sensation hurt so much, I dropped the tire iron at the instant the car alarm began to blare and car lights flashed.

“Prints! Prints!” the cat yowled, adding to the din. “Pick it up.”

I scrambled to pick up the tool, which now felt even heavier. I was raising it overhead to smash the window when a spotlight mounted to the front of the Mulligan house, suddenly bathed the area in blinding light.

“Run!” the cat urged.

I didn’t need to be told twice. Tightening my grip on the tire iron, I raced away into the darkness without looking back.

Twenty minutes later, limping badly, Piss rejoined me at my car.

“It’s done,” she said before falling into a deep sleep.

Sleep eluded me that night.

~#~

The next day, I slipped Delveccio’s gift-wrapped package into my pocket, and headed into Insuring the Future.

Before I even sat down, I went to Harry’s office and knocked on the frame of the open door.  He was finishing up a call, but waved me inside, indicating I should take a chair.

I sat and waited while he finished the conversation, noticing that he’d added new pictures. One was another wedding shot and the other was of the two of them overlooking the Grand Canyon. He looked happy in the pictures, but looked stressed behind the desk.

“Morning, Maggie.” He hung up the phone.

“Morning.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if it would be okay if I took a long lunch today. I have to visit my mother quickly and drop something off.” I smiled, hopeful that since I technically hadn’t lied, he’d go for it. “I’d get back about thirty minutes late. Is that okay?”

He considered me for a long moment, and I knew he was going to turn down my request.

“It would be better…” he began slowly.

It was an effort to maintain my smile, but I hung onto it doggedly.

“If you could leave early instead of coming back late,” he finished.

That response was so unexpected that I blurted out, “What?”

“We’ve got a meeting right before,” he explained. “If you leave before that, it won’t even register that you’re off the phones. Corporate will just think you were in the meeting.”

“Wow, Harry. That’s awfully nice of you.”

“Like I’ve told you, I appreciate loyal, hardworking employees. Everything okay with your mother?”

I nodded.

“Okay. The meeting starts at eleven, so why don’t you slip out then?”

“I will.” I stood and had the urge to shake his hand in thanks; instead, I pointed at the Grand Canyon photograph. “That’s a great shot.”

“We had a great time.”

“I’m happy for you,” I said sincerely.

“Thanks,” he replied, reaching for his ringing phone.

I worked steadily, skipping my morning break, until eleven. Then I quietly slipped out of the building and hustled to my car, nervousness gnawing at my gut as I anticipated seeing my mother and the institution.

My nervousness was replaced with disgust when I noticed that getting into my car was going to be a challenge since a couple was pressed up against the driver’s door, making out.

“Morning,” I called as soon as I saw them.

They were so wrapped up in each other they didn’t notice me. That, or I was being ignored.

Drawing closer, I cleared my throat. “A-hem.”

I wasn’t surprised they didn’t hear me over their moans and gasps.

“Hey!” I shouted, “Get the hell off my car.”

They broke apart.

“Chill, chiquita,” Armani said breathlessly, tugging her clothes back into place.

“Maybe she isn’t getting any,” Ike mused, looking me up and down.

I resisted my body’s urge to shudder in disgust and forced myself to meet his gaze, coolly and steadily.

He blinked a couple of times as though he was unaccustomed to anyone looking him in the eye.

“I need my car,” I told them firmly.

“Where you going?” Armani asked, pushing herself away from my vehicle and dragging Ike along with her.

“To see my mother.”

She raised her eyebrows. “No wonder you’re in such a mood.”

“I’m not in a mood,” I countered sharply.

“No,” Ike agreed. “She’s always a bitch.”

Ike’s words echoed in my head as I drove to Mom’s residence, not because I believed them, but because of the malevolence I imagined I heard behind them. I rubbed my arms, trying to chase away the goose bumps the memory caused.

After checking in, I made my way straight to my mother’s room, remembering that the last time I’d been here, I’d been with my dad. She’d been relatively lucid that day. I hoped for the same on this visit, but the gift wrapped box, stuffed in my pocket, reminded me with every step why I was really there.

She wasn’t in her room, which meant I had to go looking for her, which was great, because it gave me the perfect excuse to wander around and find the woman in the photograph Delveccio had given me.

I was so busy scanning the faces of the patients sitting in the dayroom, watching a rerun of Matlock they’d probably already seen a hundred times before, that I didn’t see him watching me.

I bent over to try to see the face of a woman holding her head. It was then that I spotted my target. She wasn’t smiling or as vivacious as she was in the photograph, but it was definitely the beautiful woman Delveccio wanted the box delivered to.