The Hitwoman and the Family Jewels (9 page)

“Let me go or you’re going to get yourself shot,” I whispered to Vinnie. Raising my voice, I said loudly enough for everyone in the hall to hear, “Sorry about that. My fault. Thanks for catching me.”

Out of the corner of my eye I caught Delveccio’s imperceptible nod.

I patted Vinnie’s shoulder. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

He sneered, making it clear I didn’t have a chance in hell of doing him any damage. He dropped my arm and I pretended to wobble unsteadily for a second. I stole a quick glance at Delveccio’s expression as I pretended to regain my balance.

He didn’t look happy.

I had to think fast. It was bad enough I had a rogue cop gunning for me and that the US Marshals were tracking my escapee father. I couldn’t afford to have the reputed head of a crime family pissed at me too. My life was already too dangerous without throwing a homicidal mob boss into the mix.

“Look,” I continued in my overly loud voice as I looked at Katie’s room. “I told you, Marshal Weller, I don’t know where my father is. And I told you, Detective Whatever-The-Hell-Your-Name-Is, Paul Kowalski attacked
me
. I’m the victim here.”

Patrick played along beautifully. “I understand, but there are still official questions you have to answer.” Ignoring Delveccio, he marched toward me. “You’ll have to come with me.”

Turning away, I caught Delveccio’s eye. He nodded his approval before slipping back into his grandson’s room.

Patrick and I hurried through the hallways, back toward the pick-up, Aunt Leslie following on our heels, ignoring the calls of Blanche who was shouting after her.

“You need to calm down,” Patrick whispered through gritted teeth. “If you lose it, all of this could blow up in our faces.”

I shot him a sideways glance. “Don’t worry. If it goes badly I’ll take all the blame.”

He frowned at me. “That’s what I’m afraid of. We should go back to the B&B before Griswald gets suspicious.”

“I have to get to God,” I insisted as we stepped outside.

“You are talking about the lizard, right?”

“Of course.”

“I’m starting to think you’re way too attached to that thing.” Yanking open the passenger door to the pick-up, Patrick offered me a hand up.

I took it and he half-lifted me onto the seat.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured.

“I’ll live.”

“For now.”

I wondered if his “for now” was a warning about Paul coming after me to finish what he’d started or if he was worried Delveccio might sic Vinnie on me if I messed this up any more.

I had to push the thoughts aside and shove my butt to the center of the truck cab, so that there was room for Aunt Leslie in the passenger seat.

“We’ll go to check on the dog,” Patrick announced climbing into the driver’s seat and cranking the truck’s heater to max. “Then we’re going to get this mess sorted out.”

He spoke with conviction, but I had my doubts. Sandwiched between my nervously twittering aunt and my determined murder mentor, I had a sinking feeling that things were going to get messier.

Returning to the vet’s parking lot, Patrick pulled to a stop between the lines of a parking spot.

Leslie eyed the place in horror. “I can’t go in there.”

Patrick hopped out of the pick-up.

“Okay.” I patted my aunt’s hand sympathetically, thinking she might be squeamish about DeeDee’s blood. “You can stay in the truck.”

“There are
drugs
in there,” she whispered.

Doing my best to not roll my eyes, I muttered, “So wait here.”

Awkwardly I slid over the seat and climbed out the driver’s door with a little assistance from Patrick, who took my hand and helped me down as though I was a fairy princess alighting from a magic carriage.

“You could wait out here too,” he murmured in my ear, his breath warm against my skin.

I shook my head, a lump rising in my throat. Doomsday had gotten hurt protecting me. It was my responsibility to check in on her. But I couldn’t tell Patrick any of that because I was pretty sure I’d burst into tears if I tried to speak and I had to be strong now. The dog deserved that.

Stepping around so that he could look directly at me, he studied my face. “Are you sure? You really don’t look good.”

“I’m fine,” I insisted.

He frowned, signaling he hadn’t appreciated the false note of cheerfulness I’d injected into my tone, but he didn’t argue.

We walked toward the building side-by-side.

“After we check on her we’re going to have to go back to the B&B,” Patrick warned. “Griswald’s going to ask you a lot of questions.”

“Like what?”

“Hard to say. I’d imagine most of them will have to do with your father.”

“But I don’t know anything. It’s not like he told me of his plans to escape,” I said.

“Then just tell him the truth. It’s a lot easier to remember than a lie is.”

I paused with my hand on the doorknob of the vet’s office. “And what am I supposed to do if they ask about us?”

“Rule Number Four: Deny Everything.” He winked at me as though he wasn’t the slightest bit concerned we were about to be caught, covered my hand on the doorknob with his own, and pushed the door open.

Dr. Felton’s assistant, Monica, the woman he’d been
banging boots
with, straightened a rack of brochures about fleas, heartworm, and a host of other pet maladies. Glancing over at us as we walked inside, she said, “I’ll let him know you’re here.” She quickly disappeared from the waiting room.

Patrick’s cell phone buzzed. He glanced at the display and said, “It’s Griswald. I’ve got to take this.” He went back outside to answer the call, leaving me alone in the reception area.

The one-eyed cat, keeping her body pressed against the wall, crept into the room. “You came back.”

“Uh huh.” I sat down on a chair and patted the seat beside me, inviting her to join me.

She narrowed her gaze suspiciously.

“How’s DeeDee?” I asked.

The cat leapt onto the chair next to mine. “Doc says she’s tougher than she looks.”

I thought about how Doomsday had tangled with her previous owner Gary the Gun and then with psychopath Paul, both times to save me. “She’s a loyal friend,” I told the cat. “I can be too. Want to tell me your name now?”

Ignoring me, the cat lifted a paw to her mouth and began licking it.

I tried another tacttack. “Are you a patient or do you live here?”

“I live here. I live there. I make my way in the world,” she said a tad haughtily.

I nodded. “I used to dream about a life like that. I wanted that kind of freedom, but I was always too afraid to go for it.”

“Why?” she asked curiously, her good ear twitching curiously.

I shrugged. “It’s silly.”

“Tell me,” she insisted.

“It’s too embarrassing to tell a stranger,” I said, looking away.

She kneaded my leg, her claws pricking lightly through my jeans. “I want to know.”

I looked back at her, staring into her one eye. “I was afraid I’d be too lonely. I mean my family is crazy and all, but I couldn’t imagine my life without them.” Tears filled my eyes as I confided, “I don’t have much left.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, continuing her march in place against my thigh.

“My sister Theresa died in a car accident earlier this year, my mom’s in a mental institution, my dad’s in prison, and my sister Marlene hasn’t spoken to me in years because she blames me for her twin, Darlene, being murdered.” I wiped away the tears that were now flowing freely down my face.

My feline friend nuzzled her head into my arm, offering me comfort. “I’m so sorry, Sugar.”

“I can’t lose DeeDee, I just can’t.”

“You’re not going to. She’ll pull through.” The cat climbed into my lap, curled into a ball and began to purr.

I stroked her silky coat. “You think so?”

“Doc Felton is the best,” she assured me. “Not that I’d admit that in public.”

We both looked over as Patrick came back inside.

“How is she?” he asked.

“Soft,” I answered.

He frowned. “I meant the dog.”

“I haven’t seen her yet, but I have a good feeling,” I told him.

The cat purred her approval.

Patrick settled into the seat the cat had vacated. “We can’t wait here long. I’ve got to get you back to Griswald.”

“Is there something new about my dad?” I asked.

“Nothing yet.”

Doctor Felton strolled into the reception. He came to an abrupt stop, a look of shock on his face.

The cat’s comforting purring stopped.

Fear lanced my heart and I trembled. “What is it?”

“You’ve got piss on your lap!” he exclaimed.

Certain I’d misheard him, I asked, “What?”

“Piss,” the doctor insisted. “Piss is on your lap.”

“He means me,” the cat explained.

I looked down at her, then back at the vet. “You mean the cat?”

He nodded. “We call her Miss Piss because she peed in the spare set of shoes I keep in the back.”

“That’s a horrible name.” I looked down at the cat. “Tell me what your name is.”

“It’s a cat,” Patrick reminded me. “It can’t talk.”

The cat had the audacity to wink at me, at least that’s what I think she did with her one good eye, before jumping off my lap and stalking away. “I’m going to relieve myself in his shoes,” she purred naughtily.

“I’ll take you to see your girl,” Doctor Felton offered.

Patrick and I followed him into a different room than we’d been in earlier. She was in a large crate on the floor, lying on her side, eyes closed.

I knelt down to stroke her snout through the bars. “Hey, DeeDee.”

She stirred groggily.

“Let her sleep,” God whispered.

Squinting, I realized he’d tucked himself below her chin.

“How’s she doing?” Patrick asked the vet.

“It’s a good thing you got her here when you did. She would have bled to death without surgery, but now that she’s stitched up, I’m hoping she’ll make a full recovery.” The vet crouched beside me. “The lizard is yours?”

I nodded.

“Gotta say, I’ve seen some odd inter-species pairings in my practice, but I’ve never seen two buddies like them. He stuck by her the whole time.”

I swallowed the lump that rose in my throat. “I’m not surprised.” As much as he groused about her grammar, God was fond of the grammatically-challenged beast.

“She’ll have to stay here overnight,” Dr. Felton straightened and stepped away. “And probably tomorrow too, but we’ll keep a close eye on her and give her our best care.”

“Thank you,” I murmured.

“Since you’re not a regular client we’ll need you to fill out some paperwork,” he said.

“That’s his genteel way of saying you owe him beaucoup bucks,” the cat meowed, winding her way between my ankles.

I resisted the urge to ask her if she’d ruined the good doctor’s shoes.

Patrick bent down so that he too could pet the sleeping dog. Gently, he said, “We should go.”

I asked God. “Do you want to stay here or go with me?”

Thinking I was talking to him, Patrick laid a hand on my shoulder. “Neither of us can stay. We have to go.”

“I’ll stay,” God said. “I don’t want her to wake up and be afraid.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, slowly getting to my feet.

“You’re welcome,” the doctor replied, assuming I was speaking to him.

“I’ll keep an eye on them,” the cat pledged.

“You only have one eye,” God taunted.

“Careful,” the cat warned, “or you’ll end up as my midnight snack.”

“Be nice,” I admonished.

“Fine,” God sighed.

The cat just twitched her tail.

“Of course we’ll be nice to her,” the doctor said, clearly offended.

Shaking my head, I looked at DeeDee once more before leaving the room.

Since I’d left the B&B without my wallet, Patrick gave Doctor Felton’s assistant his business card and assurance that I’d be back to settle the bill the next day.

We walked outside and stopped to watch Aunt Leslie who was standing beside the truck, legs spread, eyes closed, arms outstretched toward the sky.

“What the hell is she doing?” I muttered.

“Looks like Warrior Pose,” Patrick said.

I shot him a sideways glance.

“Yoga,” he explained. “She’s in Warrior One.”

“And how do you know so much about yoga?”

He shrugged. “I’ve taken classes. It’s good for you. Strengthens the body. Calms the mind.” He looked down at me. “You should try it. It would do you good.”

“I thought I was supposed to learn hand-to-hand combat,” I reminded him.

“You could do both. Yoga teaches you body awareness, which would make you better at pretty much everything.”

I frowned. “I’m not the bend-myself-into-a-human-pretzel-type.”

Opening her eyes, Leslie spotted us. Lowering her arms she called, “Is she okay?”
I nodded.

She smiled. “That’s good news.”

“It may be the only good news you get today,” Patrick reminded me.

Nodding my understanding, I trudged toward the pick-up truck. It had been a difficult day, but the most challenging part was about to happen. I had to remember when to tell the truth and when to deny everything.

Yellow and black police tape fluttered across the front entry of the Bed and Breakfast.

“Why’s that there?” Leslie asked as Patrick parked the pick-up on the side of the street.

“The foyer is a crime scene, ma’am,” Patrick answered.

“It’s not a foyer, it’s a parlor,” she corrected, climbing out of the truck.

“I’m not going to be able to help you in there,” Patrick whispered as I moved to exit after her.

“I know.” Sliding out of the truck, I squared my shoulders, prepared for whatever Marshal Griswald had to throw at me.

Leslie and I walked toward the back entrance arm-in-arm, with Patrick trailing behind. As we got closer to the kitchen, I caught a whiff of cinnamon.

“Aunt Susan’s baking,” I chuckled.

“It’s better than Loretta making another batch of her love muffins,” Leslie said.

Together we turned to Patrick and said simultaneously, “Don’t eat the love muffins.”