The Hitwoman Plays Courier
Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman Book 29
No good deed goes unpunished.
When Maggie Lee helps an old man who’s fallen, she ends up working as a courier for his well-to-do son.
Proud of herself for landing a legitimate job that doesn’t involve a windowless office, Maggie ignores red flags and the concerns of God that all may not be what it seems. She’s too busy traversing the landmines of literacy involving a certain mobster’s grandson and juggling the two men who both want more from their relationships with her.
Maggie’s already stressed out when things go wrong, really wrong, with a delivery. A man’s dead and the police know about her involvement with him.
With the help of her pets and the two men vying for her affections, Maggie must figure out what the heck is going on…or God may be lost forever.
You just know it’s going to be a bad day when you wake up next to a dead body.
“Trouble! Trouble! Trouble!” Benny squeaked nervously.
I flicked my gaze from the little white mouse, over to the man who had his head split open.
“What happened?” I tried to say, but the words wouldn’t come out. My mouth was too dry. Hoping to get a better look at the situation, I tried to roll over—and felt like my head was going to explode.
I moved my tongue around, licked my lips and tried again, gasping out, “Where’s God?”
“Gone, gone, gone,” Benny revealed.
That was worse than the body.
I frowned at my reflection in the mirror, deciding that my scowl looked very unparty-ish. I didn’t want to go.
“Who holds dinner parties?” I muttered.
God, the anole lizard perched on my shoulder, replied, “Apparently, your brother’s girlfriend.”
I rolled my eyes. Making an effort to be friendly with Kristen, Ian’s girlfriend, at the retirement party for Griswald, my aunt Susan’s husband, had been a mistake. She’d told me why she moonlights as a mob doctor, and being the sap that I am, I’d felt sorry for her. I know what it’s like to need extra cash to take care of a sick loved one. Now, because I’d shown her a moment of kindness, I had to endure an evening of torture. No good deed goes unpunished.
A knock on my bedroom door had me turning away from the mirror. I opened it to find my niece, Katie, staring up at me. “What’s up, kiddo?” I waved her into the room.
As soon as she stepped inside, she pressed the door closed behind her. “We need to talk about Dominic.”
I nodded slowly. “It’s been a little busy, honey.”
My niece, convinced that her friend was not at the appropriate reading level, wanted him to come to school with her and her cousin Alicia. While I admired the fact that she was looking out for her pal, it was putting me in a very difficult position. One, I’d have to discuss the literacy level of Dominic with his grandfather, the mob boss Delveccio—and there was no way that would go over well—and two, I didn’t think that my family would be too keen on the idea of educating a mobster’s grandson right here on our property. I’d hoped she’d forget about this little education crusade, but that wasn’t happening.
She stamped her foot and crossed her arms over her chest. “You promised.”
“And I’m working on it.”
“As soon as I can.”
She squinted as though she’d spotted a tell and knew I was lying.
Another knock on the door saved me from getting into a full-blown argument with her. I yanked the door open, almost knocking Katie, who was standing with her back to it, over in the process.
My Aunt Susan stood on the other side, scowling. I gulped nervously, wondering what I’d done wrong, but I couldn’t think of anything. Her gaze narrowed as she focused on the lizard on my shoulder.
“He salted the meat.” Susan made the announcement as though that was the worst thing anybody in the history of the planet had ever done.
“Excuse me?” I replied carefully.
“He salted the meat. Templeton. You all voted for him to stay and now he’s taking over my kitchen.”
I swallowed a smile. Templeton, my Aunt Loretta’s ex-fiancé, was a good cook and he’d slowly taken over the kitchen during his time with us.
“You voted for him to stay, too,” I reminded her gently.
“I’m starting to regret that.” She tapped her foot impatiently as though she expected me to somehow fix the salted dead animal flesh situation.
“I don’t know what you want me to do,” I said with a helpless shrug.
“Talk to him,” she implored. “He likes you.”
“He likes you, too,” I countered.
“But we argue,” she said. “Maybe he sees too much of Loretta in me.”
I smirked. I couldn’t think of two people who were more unalike than straightlaced Susan and her outlandish sister Loretta. The pinched lines around Susan’s mouth indicated she did not appreciate my amusement.
“He’s just trying to be helpful,” I said.
“But he cooks every meal,” Susan complained.
“There are a lot of women who would love to have a man in the house who cooks every meal.”
“Well, not me.”
“I’ll talk to him,” I said. “But the two of you are going to have to work out some sort of schedule for the kitchen.”
She gave me a curt nod and then turned her attention to Katie. “Did you do your homework?”
Lifting her chin, Katie said, with an unmistakable note of defiance in her young voice, “Miss Lassalan doesn’t give us homework. We don’t need it.”
I held my breath. If I had spoken to Susan the way Katie did when I was her age, I would have lived to regret it.
Susan blinked, unaccustomed to hearing such resistance from those younger than her. To her credit, she recovered quickly. “Well, what are you doing with your time, then?”
“I’m trying to convince Aunt Maggie to help Dominic learn to read.” Katie frowned at me pointedly.
A slight smile played at Aunt Susan’s lips. “While that’s a noble endeavor, Katie. I’m not sure it’s the best use of anyone’s time.”
“You promised,” Katie reminded me.
Sighing heavily, I nodded. “I did.”
My niece ran out of the room.
Susan gave me a full-on smirk. “It’s kind of karma that you have to deal with her.”
“Are you saying I was difficult as a child?”
Susan just threw back her head, laughed, and walked away.
I hadn’t even had the chance to close my bedroom door again when Armani called, “Hey, chica.”
I turned in the direction that she was limping from. I winced when I saw that she was carrying her bag of Scrabble tiles. That meant she had some kind of psychic prediction for me.
“Maybe she’s going to say something about the dinner party,” God whispered.
Wordlessly, my friend held out the bag to me. I pulled out seven tiles, ushered her into the room, and laid them out on the bed in alphabetical order.
B, E, H, L, O, P, R.
“Blip hero,” she declared immediately.
“What’s a blip hero?” I asked, refraining from pointing out there was no I.
She shrugged. We both stared at the letters for a long time. “Her prob,” I suggested. “Short for her problem.”
“Whose problem?” Armani asked.
It was my turn to shrug. “Rob help,” Armani said. “Do you know a Robert? He must need help.”
I shook my head.
“That’s got to be it,” Armani declared. “You’ve got to find a Rob who needs your help.”
“If you say so,” I said weakly.
She glanced at me. “You’re in a mood. What’s wrong?”
I sighed. “I have to go to a dinner party.”