Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman (2 page)

I braced myself for the harangue, the lecture, the litany of my shortcomings, but she stayed silent. We stood there, locked in silent battle for the longest time. I refused to back down. I didn’t look away. I knew enough to not open my mouth and stay something stupid.

Finally she cleared her throat. I lifted my chin defiantly.

“The doctor wants to keep you overnight, but one of us, probably Loretta, since she’s enamored with all the wealthy, handsome doctors, will be back in the morning to drive you home.”

I shook my head. “No need. My apartment is only a couple of blocks from here.”

I thought for a moment I’d pushed my rebellion a bit too far, as her hands planted themselves on her hips.

“When I said we’d bring you home, I meant to the house.” The three aunts still lived in the house they’d grown up in, although now it had been turned into a prosperous bed-and-breakfast catering mostly to pharmaceutical executives tired of staying in stark hotel rooms.

The B&B is located two blocks from the middle of town and is only a fifteen or twenty minute drive to three pharmaceutical complexes, but it’s tucked into a quiet residential neighborhood. My aunts’ neighbors are normal Jersey folks, not the kind who show up on ridiculous reality shows, but the type who, during the summer, have sprinklers that are synchronized better than any Olympic swimming team, and during the winter indulge in a penchant for oversized inflatable holiday directions that stay up from October through March.

My apartment complex, on the other hand, is on the “seedy” side of town. It’s not the best of neighborhoods, but it’s not as bad as my family makes it out to be. Although there is the occasional drug bust or domestic disturbance to keep things interesting, it’s mostly harmless blue-collar folks who think going “down the shore” is a dream vacation. It’s the best I can afford and worth every nickel to be out from beneath my aunts’ stifling roof. “No, I want to go back to my apartment,” I told my aunt firmly.

Aunt Susan wrinkled her nose as though she’d smelled a skunk, but all she said was, “As you wish.”

Like wishes ever come true.

Chapter Two

I
T TOOK ME
two days to remember the lizard.

Two days of conferring with doctors about Katie’s condition and care.

Two days of making the arrangements for the funeral. It shouldn’t take two days to make those kinds of plans. All you have to do is talk to a black-suited funeral home employee, someone to officiate, and a girl making minimum wage in the obit department of the newspaper. You let the people who do this every day do the heavy lifting.

But the decisions regarding this funeral were more complicated than the Middle East peace process because everything had to be agreed upon by both our family and Dirk’s, since he and Theresa were to be buried together.

Everything was a “discussion” down to what color the lining of their coffins should be (dusky rose, if you’re interested). Personally I couldn’t understand what the hell the big deal was. It wasn’t like anyone was going to even see the inside of the boxes, since we’d been gently told that their bodies were too mangled to have open caskets.

By the end of the negotiations, I was ready to murder someone. My first choice was the drunk driver who’d run a red light and killed Theresa and left Katie unconscious and parentless, but that selfish, irresponsible bitch had died on impact. Which meant that the person I wanted to kill was Dirk’s idiot sister Raelene, who kept prattling on about how “lucky” it was that neither Theresa nor Dirk had lost the other. That it was a blessing they’d gone together. She kept saying how “lucky” they were to get to spend eternity side-by-side.

It got so bad that every time she opened her mouth, I imagined my hands around her throat, squeezing the life out of her.

On the afternoon of the second day, once we’d agreed on what the dearly departed would wear for eternity, I drove to the state prison to tell my father that a second of his daughters had died.

I hadn’t been to East Jersey State Prison for years, but I drove as though on automatic pilot, trying to figure out what I’d say when I saw him. I’d considered just calling and asking a prison chaplain to pass along the sad news, but I knew Theresa wouldn’t want him to find out that way. Even after everything, she’d been devoted to Dad, driving out to visit him every two weeks, giving him regular updates on everyone, like a cuckoo clock chiming the hour.

She was a more forgiving person than I’ll ever be. She was a better person.

Which was why, after handing over my driver’s license and enduring a pat down that made me feel like I was as much a criminal as the person I was visiting, I sat in the prison visiting room, at window three, my stomach in knots, waiting to talk to a murderer. Some kids have teachers, steel workers, or doctors for dads. I had a killer.

“Must be my lucky day!” my father boomed the moment he walked into the room and saw me.

I was grateful that this was midweek, and therefore a “window visit.” “Contact” visits are only allowed on weekends. The plexiglass partition prevented him from hugging me. “What makes you think that?” I asked.

“It’s not every day I get to see my Maggie May.”

He settled into the seat opposite me. He didn’t look like a criminal who belonged behind bars. Twinkling blue eyes, white beard, and a belly like a bowlful of jelly—if you gave him a red suit and hat, he could be the freakin’ Santa Claus in the Thanksgiving Day parade.

“Theresa’s dead.” I didn’t prepare him. I didn’t make an effort to sugar-coat the news or ease him into it. I just spit out the cold hard fact like a bullet.

It found its target.

The smile dropped from his face, and his jaw went slack. His shock and pain were plain to see.

And I was glad. Glad that for once I was able to hurt him.

But that moment of petty satisfaction only lasted a moment. I wasn’t in the habit of intentionally hurting people. I immediately felt guilty. Small. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“How?”

“A drunk driver. Dirk was killed too.”

“And Katie?” His question was just a whisper, as though he was afraid fate might overhear him.

“Katie . . .” My eyes ached. I ground my palms against them, trying to rub away the pain. “Katie’s in a coma.”

“A coma?”

“Uh huh.” I waited for him to spout some useless platitude about how
at least she isn’t suffering
, but he surprised me.

“Does she have that stuffed dinosaur she loves so much?”

I shrugged.

“She should have it. She loves that thing.” Two fat droplets slowly slid down his plump cheeks.

It bothered me that he was able to cry, while I hadn’t shed a single tear. I’d built up such an impenetrable emotional dam over the years that I was no longer capable of a simple thing like crying. Dry-eyed, I envied his release. I looked away, unable to face my shame.

“What do the doctors say?”

I shrugged. “That only time will tell. That she needs round-the-clock care. That all we can do is wait.”

“And what about the witches? What are they up to?”

“Don’t call them that!” It was okay for me to call them that—I’d put up with them for all these years—but he wasn’t allowed.

“Theresa didn’t mind.”

“Well Theresa isn’t here! You forfeited the right to badmouth them when they got stuck with raising us because you got yourself locked up in here.”

Any trace of benevolent Santa disappeared. Leaning forward, he snarled through the glass, “I wouldn’t be in here if it wasn’t for those bitches!”

“Witches,” I corrected. It startled me how much I sounded like my mother in that moment. How many times had I heard her make that very correction?

“You sound just like your mother.”

I frowned at him, at myself, unhappy he’d confirmed my observation. I sure as hell didn’t want to be compared to her. Not ever.

Sitting back in his chair he smiled kindly. “The hospital bills must be astronomical.”

“It’s only been a couple of days.”

He roared. “You waited a couple of days to tell me?”

I flinched at his shout. “I’ve been busy.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. This has all been a shock is all.”

“To me too.”

“About the bills . . . what are you going to do about them?”

“There’s life insurance . . . car insurance . . .”

“It’s not going to be enough.”

I knew he was right, but that was a problem I couldn’t deal with at the moment. I had more important things to focus on. Namely getting Katie to open her eyes.

“Whatever you do, Maggie, don’t do anything stupid. No matter how desperate you get, no matter how much you want to cure her, don’t do what I did.”

“I wasn’t planning on robbing a bank.”

“You’re a lot like me, Maggie May.” There was no pride in his voice, only sad resignation. “You’re prone to tilting at windmills. The inability to do anything, the frustration will eat away at you, making you capable of doing things . . . the kinds of things you can’t even imagine.”

“I’m not like you.”

“No? Then why are you here? Certainly not because you’ve forgiven me or because you didn’t want me to hear from a stranger that Theresa’s . . . gone.”

I inclined my head slightly to signal my agreement with his assessment.

“You’re here because you’re fiercely—bordering on perversely—loyal to those you love. You knew damn well that Theresa would have wanted you to tell me in person, so you subjugated your own desires and drove here.”

“You must be doing a lot of reading.”

He blinked. I’d caught him off guard. “Huh?”

“You’re using terms like ‘tilting at windmills’ and ‘subjugated’ during this father-daughter bonding session.”

“Changing the subject doesn’t change the outcome, Maggie May.”

“Meaning you think I’m going to become a bank robber or a murderer?”

He winced. I knew what he was thinking. He’d said it often enough during his trial. How many times had he tried to explain that the bank teller’s death hadn’t been his fault? Someone had believed him because his state-appointed idiot defense lawyer had managed to plead the charges down from first-degree murder to second-.

“What I think, daughter of mine, is that you’re capable of doing whatever it takes for someone you love. Whatever it takes.”

Chapter Three

L
IKE
I
SAID,
it took me two days to remember the lizard, and that was just because Katie’s grandfather reminded me of her favorite toy.

I let myself into Theresa’s house with the key she kept by the solar-powered garden gnome in one of those fake rock/key-hider things.

Their house was in one of those cookie-cutter neighborhoods that dot the landscape of New Jersey, tucked between industrial parks, protected Green Spaces, and spots where George Washington had stopped to take a leak during the Revolutionary War. The streets in the development all had bird names.

Theresa and Dirk had bought on Cardinal Court, not because it was the best house in the area, but because cardinals were our mom’s favorite bird. Theresa had said it was a sign. Personally, I don’t believe in signs, premonitions, vibes, or luck, but I hadn’t said a word, because I’d figured a dead-end street was probably a safer place to raise a kid.

It was dark as I fumbled for the light switch.

“It’s about time.” The man’s voice, English and dripping with disdain, scared the shit out of me. Who the hell was in the house? Pressing my back to the wall, holding my breath, I tried to figure out where he was. All I could hear was the chirping of crickets.

“What are you waiting for?” His voice, coming from Katie’s room, was familiar. Haughty. Full of contempt. “I said, ‘What are you waiting for?’ ”

I exhaled in relief. Alan Rickman. It was Alan Rickman’s voice. Theresa must have left a Harry Potter DVD running. I’d once suggested that I thought Professor Snape was too scary for a three-year-old. Big mistake. I got the whole, “parents know what’s best for their kids” speech, as though having a child somehow improved the judgment of an adult.

Switching on the light, I made my way to Katie’s room to turn off the movie and find the dinosaur.

Flipping the switch just inside her door, I illuminated her pink and frilly bedroom. The TV was dark. That was weird. A quick glance at the bed told me Dino wasn’t there, so I dropped to my knees to look underneath.

“Hello? I’m over here.”

Goosebumps sprang to life all over my body. Why did it sound as though Professor Snape was talking to me? I shook my head. I was being ridiculous. I lifted the bed skirt and peered beneath.

“I’m not under the bed you imbecile. I’m over here.”

Rocking back on my heels I dropped the bed skirt. It really did sound as though he was talking to me, but that couldn’t be. I closed my eyes and forced myself to take a slow, deep breath. No need to panic. I was just tired. And stressed, definitely stressed.

“Here, you moronic biped. By the mirror.”

I opened one eye and slowly swiveled my head in the direction of the dresser. No one stood in front of it.

“Up here! Up here! ON the dresser!”

Slowly, I raised my gaze. Not believing what I was seeing, I blinked. I still saw it. Squeezing my eyes shut, I counted to ten. I looked again.

Yup, the lizard was still standing up and waving at me.

I gulped. Holy crap, I’d lost my mind.

I crawled over to get a better look at Katie’s pet lizard in its glass terrarium. About six inches long (most of it tail) it was muddy brown with a dark stripe down its back. It wasn’t what I’d call a cute and cuddly pet. And it didn’t look anything like Alan Rickman.

“I’m starving. You’d better be here to feed me. And I need to be misted. All this dry air has just wreaked havoc with my complexion.”

“Would it kill you to say ‘please’?” I asked.

The little guy fell over backward, his tail twitching. He scrambled back up and stared at me with those shiny eyes of his. “You can hear me?”

I nodded. Heaven help me, I thought a lizard was talking to me. Apparently my father had been right to compare me to my mother. Like her, I seemed to be delusional too.

“I don’t believe it.” His tail twitched.

“Me neither.”

He rubbed his chin with one of his front feet as though he was trying to make sense of this odd development. I waited for him to speak again, hoping he could make sense of all this. Pathetic, I know.

“You are here to feed me, aren’t you? I haven’t eaten for days.”

“What do you eat?”

“Crickets.”

“What else?”

“Just that. Crickets. I could eat other things, but I prefer crickets.”

I swallowed hard. The idea of eating a cricket disgusted me. “What other kinds of things?”

“Fruit flies, meal worms, maggots.”

I gagged. They were even grosser than crickets! “Okay, okay, where do they keep your food?”

“In a bag in the closet.”

Opening the closet door, I found a plastic bag containing a couple of live crickets. It vibrated in my hand as the bugs jumped around. It took all my self-control not to drop it on the floor and stomp it. I hate bugs the way Indiana Jones hates snakes. “They’re alive.”

“Mmmm . . . fresh meat!”

I swear I saw him lick his lips. “What are you waiting for? Feed me!”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“When you say
please
, I’ll feed you.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

I dangled the bag above the terrarium. Not only did I think I was conversing with a lizard, but now I was trying to teach him manners. That probably made it official that I’d lost my mind.

“
Please
, feed me the fucking crickets!” he bellowed.

“No need to be snippy about it.” I hastily untied the plastic sack, making sure the insects couldn’t jump out and touch me. Pushing aside the glass lid of the enclosure, I dropped the entire bag of bugs inside.

“Food! Glorious food!”

Totally grossed out, I turned away as the gecko feasted, resuming my search for Dino. I rummaged through Katie’s toy chest. I didn’t find the dinosaur, but I did find six Dora the Explorers.

“Wha’ are you doin’?”

I made the mistake of turning back to look at him. He was chewing on a cricket’s leg like it was a toothpick. “You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full.”

Ignoring the reprimand, he said haughtily, “Whatever it is you’re searching for, I can help you find it.”

“Katie’s dinosaur.”

“I’d guess it’s in the washing machine or dryer. She vomited on it a couple of days ago. I haven’t seen the shabby thing since. Which reminds me, where is the child?”

“In the hospital. There was a car accident. Theresa’s dead. Dirk’s dead. Katie’s hurt.”

“That’s terrible!”

I didn’t dare look at him for fear that he, too, would shed a tear for Katie. I lay down on my niece’s pink big-girl bed and rested my cheek on her princess pillow. I was so tired. I closed my eyes for a minute.

“Is she going to be all right?” There was no trace of arrogance in the lizard’s tone, only concern.

“I don’t know.”

“So you’re going to be responsible for my care?”

Hearing doubt in his snotty voice, I threw the pillow at him. It bounced off the glass harmlessly and slid to the floor.

“No need to get violent, Maggie.”

I squinted at him. “How do you know my name?”

He shook his head as though he couldn’t believe how slow I was. “Katie calls you Aunt Maggie.” In a falsetto that sounded surprisingly like my niece, he parroted, “ ‘Aunt Maggie coming to tea pahty!’ ‘Aunt Maggie reads
Where the Wild Things
to Dino!’ ”

“All right. So what’s your name, smart ass?” I couldn’t believe I was asking a lizard what his name was and actually expecting an answer.

Standing on his back legs, using his tail for balance, he drew himself up to his full height (all two-and-a-half inches of it) and declared pompously, “I am Godzilla!”

I swallowed a chuckle. It wasn’t really his fault he had such a ridiculous name, and you know how little guys get when they think they’re being laughed at. “Nice to meet you, Godzilla.”

“But you may call me God.”

“God?”

“Of course. Godzilla sounds pretentious.”

“And God doesn’t?”

“You prefer Maggie over Margaret, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“Well I prefer God over Godzilla.”

“God it is then.”

“Are you going to live here?”

Startled, I shook my head. “The thought hadn’t occurred to me.”

“Then you must take me to your home.”

“I must?”

“Well you can’t leave me here all alone. Katie would expect you to provide me with fresh food and water and companionship.”

I frowned, knowing that he was right. I was really getting tired of doing what I imagined others would expect of me.

“Do you live alone?”

I nodded.

“By alone, I mean do you have any pets? Any predator that might try to eat me, like a dog, or a cat, or a bird?”

I shook my head.

“Good. It’s decided then.”

“It is?”

“It is.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“You may.”

“Do you talk to people, humans I mean, on a regular basis?”

“You’re my first. Not for a lack of trying though. What about you? Do you talk to many non-human species?”

“Nope. Then again, I’m not really talking to you.”

“You’re not?” He flicked his tail.

“No, this is just some sort of side effect from the accident. It’s my mind trying to make sense of a terrible situation. You’re not real.”

“I beg your pardon, but I most certainly am real.”

“No, no, no. I know that you, the pet gecko, are real. I just mean this whole, us-having-a-conversation thing, is a figment of my imagination.”

“I am NOT a gecko!” he shouted, snapping his tail like a bullwhip.

“You’re not?”

“Do I look like a gecko?”

I squinted at him.

“Oh sure, one lizard gets on TV, and you automatically assume we’re all just like him.”

“You do look alike.”

He bobbed his head, and his beard turned from tan to black. “You did NOT just say that.”

Raising my hands defensively, I stepped back.

“You ignorant—”

“I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I am an anole. A brown anole.” He puffed out the little orange goatee-like thing beneath his chin to make his point. “I am NOT a gecko!”

“Okay, okay! Whatever you are, I’m going to bring you home with me. Katie would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you.”