Maggie Lee (Book 13): The Hitwoman and the Chubby Cherub Page 8

“Didn’t want to interrupt your conversation,” he lied badly, walking over and using Loretta’s remote control to turn the television on. “Good as new.”

  “Thank you.” Loretta batted her false eyelashes at him. They wiggled like deranged spiders.

  As soon as he left the room, I jumped up, shut the door, grabbed the remote and turned off the TV, and put my hands on my hips. “What kind of special services do you provide?”

  “Haven’t you noticed that a lot of my stock is in larger sizes?”

  I hadn’t. Then again, I try pretty hard not to look at it too closely. Otherwise I imagine it on the customers and that’s just a tad bit too intimate for me.

  “You think larger women aren’t coming in because of me?” I asked. I wrinkled my nose, not liking her suggestion that I was making them uncomfortable.

  Loretta shook her head. “Of course not, dear. I’m saying the men don’t come in because of you.”

  I’m pretty sure I tilted my head to the side just like DeeDee does when she’s confused.

  “I do a booming business with drag queens, and the occasional cross dresser, and transsexuals here and there.”

  I blinked, unsure of what to say. How could I have not noticed Loretta’s clientele over the years?

  “I’ve a bit of a niche business,” Loretta claimed proudly.

  “But not exclusively niche?” I asked worriedly, imagining that every customer I’d ever seen or helped had been male and that had escaped my attention.

  “Of course not. But it’s important that you cater to my loyal customers.”

  Since I’m not by nature one who caters, I asked, “And how do I do that?”

  “Loosen up. Don’t be such an old stick in the mud.”

  “Okay, I’ll try,” I said, more to appease her than because I had a clue what she was talking about. I always smiled at customers, although admittedly, it was sometimes more of a grimace. But I couldn’t help it. I just don’t have the fortitude for retail.

  “Susan was complaining that Archie is on the loose again.”

  I winced, knowing that once my aunt started complaining about my father, there was no escaping her frustration. “Sorry,” I murmured. No doubt listening to her sister’s diatribe wasn’t what Loretta needed while she recuperated.

  “Pffft. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  “Actually, I do. It’s sort of my fault he’s running around since I’d asked Griswald to arrange a meeting with him.”

  “I like your father, I really do. I think it’s romantic how smitten he still is with Mary.” A wistful smile softened her features as she mentioned her sister. “But trust me on this, the man has never had a problem getting into trouble all on his own. This was just bad timing and it’s typical of how he doesn’t care who pays the price. You don’t need to go blaming yourself for his bad decisions.”

  I nodded slowly, hearing the truth in her words.

  “In fact, I forbid it,” she declared. “I forbid you to blame yourself.”

  I couldn’t help but smile, “Yes, ma’am.”

  She reached out and grabbed my hand. “You’re a good girl, Maggie. The best of the bunch. You always were.”

  I blinked at her, trying to keep the sudden tears welling in my eyes from spilling down my face. That was one of the nicest things she’d ever said to me. Part of me wondered what kind of painkillers she was on.

  “But you’ve always taken on too much,” she continued. “You’re like Susan like that. Always assuming you have to take on the bulk of the burden. Acting like everyone else is just an incompetent fool.” Resentment built up in her voice as she spoke, and I got the impression she was no longer talking about me, but about her own issues with her sister.

  Then, as though she’d realized what she revealed, she sucked in a breath, flashed me a smile, and concluded. “You two are alike in that respect. That’s why you’ve always butted heads.”

  I fought the urge to defend Susan. I didn’t say that I knew she’d done the best she could. Sure her methods were often flawed, but she was trying. I knew it, because I did the same things.

  “Don’t be so damned independent,” Loretta offered as a postscript. “Bonds are strengthened when burdens are shared.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I took Loretta’s advice to heart, partially because God told me to, and called Cam as soon as I was in my car. I cranked up the heat as the phone dialed.

  “Nap time,” God declared from his warm cocoon between my breasts.

  “Maggie!” Cam boomed, practically shattering my eardrum as she answered the phone.

  “I need your help,” I blurted out.

  “Anything. Everything.”

  “Megan said the treats for the kids have to be gluten, nut, dairy and sugar-free, but Anwen said dairy and sugar are okay. Do you know which of them is right?”

  “The second. Who did you say she was again?”

  “Anwen.”

  “Oh yeah, the one who sounds like she narrates my Inner Peace meditation CD.”

  I made a mental note to buy an Inner Peace CD since I’d found Anwen’s presence soothing. “So what can I give the kids?”

  “Gluten and nut-free chocolate. Flourless chocolate cake. Chocolate ice cream. Don’t you worry. If you’ll pick up the gluten-free ice cream, I’ll take care of everything else.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I responded automatically. I hadn’t meant for her to do my job.

  “But I want to.”

  Remembering Loretta’s lecture, I said as graciously as I could, “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  Cam let out an evil chuckle. “The look on Megan’s face will be my reward.”

  I could imagine her rubbing her hands together with glee as her plan came together.

  “What about Valentines?” Cam asked.

  “I need one for every kid in the class, right?”

  “Yeah, but it’s not just cheap cards like when we were kids. Now each kid has to get a Valentine and a prezzie.”

  “A prezzie?” I parroted weakly.

  “Stickers, or a cool pencil, or buttons, or, of course, candy.”

  “For the whole class?” I didn’t have time for this kind of shopping. I wracked my brain trying to think of what The Corset might have in stock I could use…blindfolds, suggestive temporary tattoos, or saucy dice. I may have hysterically giggled a little.

  “Let me do your Valentines,” Cam offered.

  “Oh no, I can’t--”

  “I really want to. It’ll be epic,” she promised.

  “Epic?” I repeated wanly, overwhelmed by it all.

  “We are gonna take that bitch down!”

  Maybe I should have caught on then that Cam’s quest for revenge might have been over the top, but I didn’t.

  I was too worried about finding gluten-free ice cream and the mobster striding toward my car.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I finished the call with Cam and tried not to flinch as Vinny, Delveccio’s steroid-fueled bodyguard (and Delveccio’s nephew) who always looks like he’d like to take a swing at me, neared the vehicle.

  He was bundled up against the cold, wearing a scarf that was probably the perfect length to strangle me with.

  Lowering the window, I gave him my “retail” smile. “Hey, Vinny.”

  “He wants to talk to you,” he grunted.

  I wondered whether it was a sign that Delveccio had sent his unpleasant muscle to demand this chitchat. Perhaps Gino had been right and demanding a discussion about delivering a package to a judge had pushed the mobster’s tolerance for me to its limit.

  I felt a little queasy, but it wasn’t like there was anywhere to run and hide. I had to face the consequence of my actions.

  “Close the window,” God groused. “You’re letting all the cold air in.”

  “Okay,” I responded, hoping that both the mobster’s bodyguard and the lizard would think I was talking to him.

  I started to raise my window.
<
br />   Vinny put his hand on top of it.

  I was sorely tempted to see what he would do if his hand was crushed by the window, but I stopped raising it.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Closing up my car so I can go see your boss.”

  “He’s coming to you.” He pointed.

  Following his finger, I saw Tony, or maybe it was his twin brother Anthony, Delveccio lumbering toward me.

  I gulped.

  I was accustomed to seeing the kindly grandfather, but outfitted in a black, cashmere overcoat and felt fedora, he looked every bit the dangerous don.

  As he drew near, he raised a hand in greeting, the sun glittering off his ridiculously large pinky ring, practically blinding me.

  Weakly I waved back.

  Behind him, I saw a flash of red. A man in a red shirt was walking behind him. For a moment I thought it was Cupid, but he turned and strolled in the other direction before I could tell for sure. It wasn’t like I could jump out of my car and chase after him. For one thing, I didn’t think Vinny would let me. For another, I wasn’t sure how to explain chasing down a total stranger in the parking lot.

  Still, the possible sighting ramped up my anxiety, cutting off my air supply.

  Vinny unobtrusively slunk away.

  “How are you, Maggie?” Delveccio boomed.

  “Okay. You?” I asked breathlessly.

  “Eh, I’ve got some problems that are giving me agita.”

  I worried that I was one of those problems.

  “Probably nothing a little chocolate pudding couldn’t help.” He winked at me.

  I smiled feebly.

  “I understand you have some concerns about the delivery. That true?”

  I managed to croak out, “I’m not sure it’s safe to deliver something to a judge.”

  He nodded. “I understand. Thing is, this particular guy, he ain’t no criminal judge.”

  “He’s not?”

  Delveccio shook his head. “He’s one of them family court judges. And I need a favor from him.”

  “Oh.”

  “So I was hoping you’d do me a favor and make the delivery. Think you can do that?”

  I nodded.

  He smiled. “I appreciate that, Maggie.”

  He said my name fondly, which helped to relieve some of my anxiety.

  “What’s the delivery?” I asked curiously.

  “A dvd?”

  “Blackmail?” I guessed.

  Delveccio squinted at me. “I would have thought that would have been against your code.”

  “It is,” I said quickly.

  “Not blackmail. Just information that will keep a child safe.” He cocked his head. “Something that’s right up your alley, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Okay then. Glad we had this talk. I’ll get the dvd to you soon.” Reaching into the car, he patted my shoulder. “Ciao.”

  “Bye.”

  He waddled away, Vinny falling into step behind him.

  “What a day.” I rolled up my window, rested my head against my steering wheel and forced myself to take deep breaths, trying not to give in to the feeling that I was overwhelmed by my life.

  “Oh it’s not that bad,” God countered. “It’s not like anyone has tried to kill you or anything.”

  “Is that what constitutes a good day for me? When no one is trying to murder me? That’s pathetic.”

  “You are pathetic,” the lizard agreed before falling silent.

  When I finally raised my head, I found a man in a black leather jacket standing in front of my car watching me.

  I winced, realizing Jack Stern had witnessed my moment of weakness.

  I rolled down my window again. “Hi Jack. Long time no see.”

  “I was trying not to startle you,” the gravelly-voiced reporter said. “Looked like you were deep in thought.”

  I smiled at his kindness.

  “Mind if I hop in?” he asked. “It’s freezing out here.”

  I unlocked the passenger door for him.

  Folding his tall frame into the seat, he held his hands toward the heating vent and rubbed them together. “I lost my gloves.”

  “That’s too bad,” I murmured, wanting to know why he was in my car. Had he seen me talking to Delveccio? Had his crime reporter instincts told him that the mobster and I had a more complicated relationship than that of two adults who’d each had children in comas?

  “I loved those gloves,” Jack complained. “They worked best with my smart phone.”

  I stayed silent, not in the mood to commiserate over the loss of his handwear. I held my breath waiting to see if he’d mention the mob boss.

  He glanced over at me. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in giving me an official statement?”

  “No,” I answered automatically, mildly annoyed since I’d already at lunch refused his request about finding Belgard’s body.

  He shrugged. “Can’t blame a guy for asking.”

  “A statement about what?” I asked, realizing I didn’t even know what he was talking about.

  “Rumor has it that your father is a suspect in Kevin Belgard’s murder. They say he could be the Cupid Killer.”

  “It’s not him,” I responded flatly.

  Jack raised his eyebrows. “Spoken like a loyal daughter. Your faith in dear old dad is admirable.”

  I frowned. “I don’t have much faith in him. I just know he’s not the Cupid Killer.”

  Jack dropped his hands into his lap and stared across the parking lot. “For the record, I think you’re right.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I think he’s being set up. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. He should know that there are some pretty high powered people who’d like him to take the fall for this.”

  “Who?” My curiosity was officially piqued.

  Jack shrugged. “Hard to say. Powerful enough that their fingerprints won’t be on the mess.”

  “And you want me to, what, see if my father will give you an exclusive and tell you what he knows?”

  He winced at my biting tone, then shook his head. “I doubt he knows. Whatever machinations are going on are higher than his pay grade.”

  “Then what do you want from me?”

  “I don’t want anything from you. I just figured you might want to pass along the information to him that he’s a pawn in a bigger game than he realizes.”

  “What kind of game?”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t figured that out yet.” He turned awkwardly, my small car too cramped for him. “I just wanted to warn you, Maggie. Be careful.”

  I nodded, knowing that his concern was genuine.

  He reached behind him for the door handle, “But,” he added with a devilish smile, “if your father ever wanted to give me an exclusive, I’d clear time on my dance card for him.” He winked and then jumped out of the car.

  As I watched him walk away, I muttered, “What the hell did you get yourself into this time, Dad?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Strangely, the hectic chaos at The Corset was a welcome respite from the rest of the day and the rest of my life.

  Someone must have sent out the memo that Valentine’s Day was fast approaching because there was a non-stop stream of customers that kept me on my toes.

  I was drowning in customers, stretched too thin to make anyone happy, when my savior walked in.

  “Hey, chica,” she called as she crossed the threshold.

  I waved at her distractedly, while helping an older woman pick out a lace-trimmed thong.

  “How’s this?” I asked, waving a red number like I was conducting the symphony, desperate for her to make a decision so I could go on to poorly assist other customers.

  She shook her head. “Not for me.”

  Honestly I couldn’t finger out why a woman who was obviously old enough to collect Social Security wanted to torture herself with a thong.

  “It’s going to be a very special n
ight,” she confided.

  “How nice for you,” I said tightly as I considered stuffing the underwear past her dentures.