The Hitwoman and the Poisoned Apple (Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman Book 8) (3 page)

“Where are my manners? Aunt Susan would kill me if she knew I hadn’t made introductions.” I winked at Brian for emphasis, since he knew my aunts and had an understanding of how demanding they were. “Brian, this is Stacy. Stacy, Brian.”

They shook hands and exchanged polite pleasantries.

“Stacy was the first social worker assigned to Katie’s case.”

“Your niece who’s in a hospital?”

“This hospital,” Stacy interjected. “Since I’m here with my fiancé and his brother, I’d run down to that end of the building, trying to find Maggie, hoping we could squeeze in a quick visit. She was
so
awesomely nice to me when I worked here. If it wasn’t for her, I’d never have quit my job and met the love of my life.”

Brian nodded, his eyes glazing over a bit at her abbreviated life story.

I, on the other hand, was pleased by Stacy’s chatterbox tendencies. It made my reason for standing around the corner from Patrick’s room seem more than plausible.

“Well I just wanted to let you know about Mulligan,” the detective said to me, while backing away from the talkative social worker.

“Thanks.” Pushing my luck, I asked, “He’s going to make it, right?”

“The prognosis is good.”

“That’s great,” I murmured.

“Nice meeting you, Stacy,” he muttered before turning and hightailing it back into the sea of testosterone outside of Patrick’s room.

“I want you to meet Clyde,” Stacy said.

“Clyde?” It sort of sounded like something you’d name a pet, not a baby.

“Yeah. I’ll go find him. Wait here?”

I nodded.  Leaning against the wall, I watched her disappear down the hallway.

“All right. Time to clear out,” an authoritative man boomed.

Thinking he meant me, I practically launched myself off the wall. It took a minute, but then I realized he was talking to the police officers.

“Back to work. Or go home. Or go for a drink, but get outta here,” the man continued.  “Mulligan’s in the clear and the hospital says our presence is disruptive.”

The crowd groaned softly, but through a miracle of shuffling feet, they moved away.

Detective Griswald nodded in my direction as he walked, engaged in an intense conversation with a uniformed colleague.

I watched them all go and counted under my breath. “One. Don’t get caught. Two. Don’t get caught. Three. Don’t get caught. Ten. Ready or not, here I come.”

Turning the corner, I hurried down the newly deserted hallway.

My heartbeat sped up as I walked, but I wasn’t sure if it was due to my physical exertion, the fear that I could get caught, or the knowledge I was about to see my favorite redhead.

I paused for a moment in the doorway, taking a shaky breath to fortify my resolve. I could hear monitors beeping inside the room.

I braced for myself for how severe Patrick’s condition might be, pushed open the door, and tiptoed inside.

Even against the bleached white sheets, he looked pale.  Eyes closed, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, he appeared to be asleep. I felt a stab of disappointment that even though I’d managed to sneak in here, I wouldn’t get the chance to talk to him.

I wrapped my hand around the disposable cell phone I’d brought for him, wondering if it were possible to leave it somewhere no one but him would find it.  I swept the room with my gaze. It couldn’t be left anywhere obvious like the table beside his bed. It would be spotted for sure there. I considered lifting the blanket and stowing it beside him, but what if a nurse or a doctor lifted the cloth, or what if, unaware it was there, he knocked it to the ground in front of a roomful of cops? That would leave him with a lot of explaining to do.

Then inspiration struck. What if I left it in the bathroom? Assuming he’d regained enough strength to use the toilet, it could be a decent hiding spot. Even if it was found, it could be assumed that someone else had left it behind.

Turning, I walked softly toward the bathroom, taking care not to disturb the sleeping man.

“Hey, Mags,” he rasped from behind me.

Whirling around, I found him watching me, a slightly bemused smile tugging at the corners of the mouth.

“You move like a cartoon burglar,” he teased.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I whispered, moving quickly to stand close to the bed. I hesitated, unsure of what the proper protocol was in the situation. I patted his shoulder awkwardly. “I was worried about you.”

“I’m tougher than I look.”

Taking in the hollowed out look of his eyes and the weakness in his voice, I wasn’t sure I believed him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured, reaching across his chest to take my hand. “But I’m glad you are.”

I don’t think five words had ever filled me with such joy before. Choking back happy tears, I told him, “I brought you a cell phone.”

He offered a smile of gratitude. “I appreciate that.”

“I was going to hide it in the bathroom for you. Figured you’d be most likely to find it.”

“Smart girl.”

“You taught me well.”

His smile wavered.

“What do you need?” I asked worriedly.

He frowned slightly. “I need you to be careful.”

“Always.”

He raised his eyebrows, signaling his disbelief.

Instead of arguing with him, I said, “Let me stash the phone.”

Hurrying into the bathroom, I found a vase. I pulled out the silk daisies, hid the phone, and stuffed the flowers back in. “Perfect.”

When I returned to Patrick’s bedside, his eyes were closed again.

“Are you awake?” I whispered.

His eyes snapped open.

“I should leave before I violate Rule Number One.”

“Don’t get caught,” we said simultaneously.

“Is there anything you need?” I asked again.

“I hate to ask,” he began carefully.

“After all you’ve done for me?” I admonished, wagging a finger at him. In the back of my mind, it occurred to me that I probably looked and sounded a lot like Aunt Susan. “You should know I’d do anything for you. Just tell me what it is.”

“I need you to find out who did this to me,” he whispered.

“You don’t know?”

He shook his head.

“I’ll try,” I pledged.

“But be careful and don’t get caught,” he reminded me.

The worry in his voice squeezed my heart. Here he was, confined to a hospital bed and he was still concerned about my safety. Unshed tears tickled the back of my throat. Afraid he’d see them shining in my eyes, I bent and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead as a symbol of my promise. “You focus on getting better.”

“You should go,” he murmured.

“Okay,” I agreed grudgingly.

“Thanks, Mags. For everything.”

“I’ll see you soon.” I hurried out of the room before the tears got the best of me.

Almost immediately, I spotted Stacy deep in conversation with a man.

Seizing the opportunity to provide myself with a reason to be outside Patrick’s room, I called out, “There you are!”

Turning, Stacy beamed at me. Grabbing the man’s hand, she dragged him toward me. “This is Clyde. Honey, this is my friend Maggie Lee.”

“Hello.” I offered my hand, but he didn’t take it.

“Yeah, hi,” he muttered, seemingly annoyed by my interruption.

Over his shoulder, Vinnie, Delveccio’s hired muscle, appeared. He glared at me. That’s nothing new. Vinnie is always glaring at me.

Vinnie pantomimed shoveling food into his mouth. I knew what that meant. Chocolate pudding.

“Maggie saved my sanity,” Stacy told Clyde. “I hated my job. I hated my life. Then, one conversation with Maggie, and snap!” She actually snapped her fingers for emphasis. “Everything changed and I met you.”

“What power you yield, Maggie,” Clyde mocked.

“Right time, right place,” I replied, meeting his mocking gaze.  I wasn’t sure I liked Stacy’s fiancé.

“You’re probably here to visit Katie,” Stacy said, oblivious to the tension that hung in the air. “We won’t keep you.”

Forcing myself to smile, I said to Clyde, “It was nice meeting you.” Then, surprising us both, I pulled Stacy into a tight hug. “Call me. Anytime.”

“Sure will,” Stacy chirped.

The moment Vinnie saw me moving in his direction, he spun away and disappeared around a corner. I followed the scent of his overwhelming aftershave all the way to the cafeteria. I told myself that my stomach churned nervously because of the smell, but really it was because meetings with Delveccio always make me nervous.

For one thing, I never know which of the identical twin mobsters I’m talking to, and for  another, I never know what I’m going to be asked to do.  I hoped whatever it was this time, it was something cut-and-dry. I already felt off-balance and didn’t relish the idea of the tightrope I might have to walk between keeping him happy (he
is
a mobster after all) and living by my principles. I know it probably sounds strange that someone who kills people for money, even though I use the money to pay for Katie’s care, would have principles, but I do. I only kill bad people, people who deserve it. In a way, you could say I’m a well-compensated public servant. I make the world a better place.

Stepping into the cafeteria, I spotted Delveccio sitting at his usual table in the farthest corner. He only had one bowl of chocolate pudding in front of him, which I took to mean I was supposed to get my own.

I got in line beside a harried mother and a rambunctious young boy. The boy was demanding cherry-flavored gelatin. The mom was insisting he eat something healthy first.

“The eternal struggle between good and evil,” a deep voice rumbled behind me.

Turning, I had to tilt my head back to get a good look at the man speaking. Dark haired, he had one of those “intentionally messy” haircuts that went perfectly with the mischievous look in his dark eyes. He wore black from head-to-toe. The scent, not an unpleasant one, of his leather jacket tickled my nose.

“I’m guessing the bad will win out,” he said, flashing a smile of perfect white teeth. “What do you think?”

I glanced at the mother and child, taking in the exhausted slope of her shoulders and found myself nodding in agreement with his assessment.

“I don’t suppose you know what’s good here?” he asked.

“Unfortunately,” I confessed, “I’ve eaten just about everything on this menu and there’s nothing that I’d recommend except, maybe, dessert.”

“You work here?”

“No. A family member is a patient.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured with such sincerity I found myself looking back up at him. Sympathy shimmered in his gaze. “It’s a terrible place to spend a lot of time.”

I got the impression he was speaking from experience, though I was unsure if he’d been the patient or the loved one who’d done the waiting.

Wanting to chase away some the sadness in his eyes, I assured him, “She’s improving.”

“That’s great,” his tone was correct, but the smile that went with it missed its mark, like he thought I was patronizing him. He jerked is chin forward. “Your turn, which will it be, light or dark?”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“How do you take your pudding? You said that it’s the only thing you’d recommend.” He pitched his voice lower. “There’s no telling what your choice will reveal.”

I looked away, pretending to focus on the bowls of dairy goodness. What I was really thinking was that
all
my choices lately seemed to be revealing a lot about me. And I wasn’t too happy about what I saw.

“You first,” I said, stepping aside and waving him forward.

He smirked as though he saw right through my ploy. “Ladies first.”

Sighing, I grabbed a banana, suddenly too self-conscious to choose a pudding.

If my choice revealed anything to him, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he put one chocolate and one tapioca pudding on his plastic tray.

I paid for the fruit and a cup of coffee before turning toward Delveccio’s table, only to find that he, along with Vinnie, had disappeared. Unsure of what I should do next, I slipped into the nearest seat and blew over the top of my coffee, trying to cool it.

“Mind if I join you?”

I didn’t have to look up to know that it was Mr. Good and Evil. I shrugged.

He took that as an invitation and sat in the chair opposite me. “Thanks. I hate to eat alone.” He tentatively tasted the tapioca pudding. “Not bad.”

“Told ya.” I sipped my coffee.

“So who are you visiting?”

“My niece.”

He frowned, deep grooves settling into the corners of his mouth and between his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“I told you, she’s improving.”

He arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Really?”

“Well she was in a coma and now she’s out of it and she should be ready to come home soon, so I consider that to be a major improvement.”

His frown disappeared. “What happened to her?”

A painful lump rose in my throat and tears came to my eyes. Even though so much had happened over the past few months, the pain and grief still felt fresh.

He leaned over the table, grabbing my coffee before I dropped it. Setting the cardboard cup down, he pried my fingers off it and squeezed my hand. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I nodded wordlessly.

Shaking his head, he muttered in a voice dripping with self-recrimination, “Me and my stupid questions.”

“It’s okay,” I told him.

“It’s not.”

“It was a car accident,” I began haltingly.

“You don’t have to tell me. It’s none of my business.”

“The car accident killed my sister Teresa and her husband and left Katie in a coma. I was the only one who escaped unscathed.” That, of course, isn’t completely true. Because of the bump on the head I’d sustained, I’d developed the ability to talk to animals, but that wasn’t anything I was willing to share with anyone with two legs.

“Survivor’s guilt,” he murmured sympathetically and again I got the impression he was speaking from personal experience.

I looked down at where he’d intertwined his fingers with mine. Part of me knew I shouldn’t be holding hands with a stranger I’d just met, but another part of me relished the connection. It made me feel grounded. It made me feel like I was actually participating in my life, not just observing how crazy my life can be.