The Hitwoman VS the Embezzler

Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman Book 43

Prologue

You just know it’s going to be a bad day when you’re trying to outrun a cop. 

Thankfully, the physical training I’d recently undertaken in order to run a charity 5k paid off. I still wasn’t the fastest or most graceful of runners, but I was able to maintain my lead, clutching a sticker-festooned water bottle in one hand and a carved, wooden walking stick in the other.

“He’s catching up,” the lizard riding on my shoulder warned.

I glanced behind me. The red-faced deputy was chasing after me but was no closer than when we’d started our bout of “catch me if you can”. He looked like I felt, frustrated and winded.

But unlike him, I was motivated to run. I was trying to save a life.

Chapter 1

“Skipped out on three months of back rent.”  The clearly miffed building owner jammed a key into the lock of an office door. “You catch that guy, you tell him I’m takin’ him to small claims court.” He threw the door open, spun on his heel, and marched back down the hall grumbling under his breath about “lowlife scum in a suit and tie”.

Lawrence Griswald, retired U.S. Marshal, husband of my Aunt Susan, motioned for me to stay behind him as he cautiously crept into the empty office. He pulled out a handgun, holding it in front of him, ready for anything.

I leaned against the doorframe, watching with amusement as he carefully cleared every inch of space like he was part of an elite SWAT team member in search of a wanted murderer.

“Impressive,” God, the anole lizard perched on my shoulder, enthused. “Look at that professional stance, those finely honed observational skills. I can see why Susan is attracted to that fine specimen.”

I grit my teeth to keep from blurting out to both the admiring reptile and the paranoid man that we were looking for an embezzler, not a crazed serial killer. An embezzler, who, by all accounts, had left town more than two weeks earlier.

“It’s clear,” Griswald announced, holstering his gun.

Pushing myself off the doorframe, I sauntered in, surveying the space. According to the building owner, the place came fully furnished, so none of what we were seeing belonged to our target. I took that to mean he wasn’t necessarily fond of pleather-encased seating, particle board desks or framed posters of the works of Monet and Dali…which, in case you were wondering, make for a hideous pairing.

“Joe Smith,” Griswald muttered. “She didn’t think to question that?”

“Guess not,” I murmured.

“I’m surprised she didn’t consult the spirits about him,” God remarked.

“What was she thinking?” Griswald waved at our surroundings. “Why would she entrust her lottery winnings to someone who worked out of this dump?”

“That’s the million-dollar question,” I agreed.

While Griswald sat behind the desk and began to systematically open and close every empty desk drawer, I took a peek behind the posters. Not that I expected to find anything, I just wanted to feel like I was doing something.

“How’d she even find this guy?” Griswald asked.

I shrugged. The truth was that I hadn’t paid all that much attention when my friend, Armani Vasquez, had won the lottery. Distracted by my own problems, I hadn’t cared what she did with her winnings. Now, she’d been wiped out and I was dealing with a massive amount of guilt.

“We’ll have to ask her,” Griswald said.

“About what?”

“How she found this Joe Smith, financial advisor,” he replied. “More specifically, you’ll have to ask. She’s not speaking to me.”

I grunted rather than pointing out he’d asked my friend how she could fall for such a harebrained scheme.

“It doesn’t look good,” Griswald admitted, closing the last drawer of the desk. “Smith has a significant lead, and the cops haven’t come up with any–.”

“Have you found him?” A curly-haired woman carrying rocks in both hands burst in.

Instinctively, I yanked Monet’s Water Lilies off the wall and held the poster up in front of me like it was some kind of shield…or at least the impression of one.

“The stench,” God groaned, diving into my bra. “Save me from the offensive aroma. I’m succumbing to the fumes!”

He wasn’t wrong. The waves of lavender weren’t wafting, they were like a tsunami, decimating all in its path.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Griswald’s hand inching toward the butt of his gun. 

Needing to defuse the situation, I smiled widely at the woman. “You’re the massage therapist down the hall, right? Hot stone massage?”

She nodded.

I saw Griswald relax as he realized the reason she carried rocks.

“Have you found Joe?” the woman asked again.

“We have not,” I admitted.

“But you’re looking for him?”

I glanced at Griswald. He gave me a slight nod.

“He…um…Joe…he appears to have embezzled money from a friend of ours,” I explained carefully.

“The woman with the limp.” She offered it as a statement, not a question.

I nodded. “How did you know?”

“She was his only client.”

Griswald sat up straighter. “You’re sure about that?”

She nodded. “Pretty sure. Nobody else ever came to see him…I mean, except for me.”

Griswald shot me a look. I knew what he was thinking. Armani had been the swindler’s only target. It explained why the police hadn’t been able to find any other victims, there weren’t any.

“I’m Maggie,” I said to the woman. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Posey, like the flower.”

“Nice to meet you, Posey. I don’t suppose Joe mentioned where he was going, did he?”

“He didn’t tell me he was going anywhere,” she complained with a petulant pout. “Just one day he was gone.”

“How’d you know he was gone?” I asked.

She held up the river stones she balanced in her hands. “These were by my door.”

“And they’re important because…” I coaxed.

“One is him.” She held up her right hand, displaying the rock. Then, she raised her left hand. “And this is me.”

“Literally dumb as rocks,” God tittered.

I ignored the lizard and admitted, “I’m sorry, I’m not following.”

“I’d given them to him when we became a couple. When he returned them, it meant he was done with us.” Her eyes welled with tears. “Worst breakup ever.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmured sympathetically.

“I’ve got a headache,” Griswald announced, getting to his feet. “I’ll wait for you outside.” He hurried out of the office without so much as a backward glance.

I wasn’t sure if it was the overwhelming odor of the lavender or the conversation that had given him a headache, but I was jealous he’d managed to extricate himself from the situation. Not knowing what else to say to Posey, I turned to rehang the poster I’d taken off the wall.

“He left everything,” she complained bitterly. “The office, your friend, me.” Her voice caught on the last word. “Everything but that picture.”

“What picture?” I asked, spinning around to face her.

“The picture of the Starry Skies Campground in the Shenandoah Valley. He had it on his desk, but now it’s gone. Like him,” she sobbed softly, running from the room.

“A clue!” God exclaimed.

“It would seem that way,” I agreed. 

“You’ll bring him to justice,” the lizard declared.

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself,” I warned.

“No,” he said with overblown assurance. “You’re Maggie Lee, and if somebody you care about gets hurt, you fix it. You always do.”

It was a nice sentiment, but this was one time I wasn’t sure I was up to the task.