The hitwoman gets caught.., p.1
The Hitwoman Gets Caught: A Comical Crime Caper, page 1
The Hitwoman Gets Caught
A Comical Crime Caper
Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman
Book 41
JB Lynn
Copyright © Jennifer Baum THE HITWOMAN GETS CAUGHT
All rights reserved. Except as permitted by US copyright act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in any database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, or organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The Hitwoman Gets Caught is intended for 18+ older and for mature audiences only.
©2024 Jennifer Baum
Cover designer: AM Design Studios
Proofreader: Proof Before You Publish
Formatting: Leiha Mann
Contents
A note
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Author’s Note
The Hitwoman VS the Training Schedule
Oh Shoot!
Psychic Consignment Mystery Series
Cursed Chicks Club
Also by JB Lynn
About JB Lynn
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Prologue
You just know it’s going to be a bad day when you hear, “This is a stick-up!”.
* * *
My name is Maggie Lee. I’m a righter of wrongs, a part-time assassin, and a kickass aunt. It was my aunt instincts that kicked into overdrive when a gunman in a black monster mask shouted, “This is a stick-up!” and fired a single bullet into the ceiling of the bank lobby where I was waiting with my niece, Katie.
Instinctively, I pushed Katie to the ground and threw my body on top of hers, hoping to shield her from additional bullets.
“Sensitive skin,” God, the lizard in my bra gasped, as I dove chest-first onto Katie.
“Uh oh! Uh oh! Uh oh!” Benny, the little white mouse in my purse, squeaked with fear.
He wasn’t the only one who was afraid.
1
As I hovered over Katie on the cold bank floor, all I could think was that we shouldn’t have been there and that our current predicament was my father’s fault.
Archie Lee is a former petty criminal, a part-time father, and is now a full-time sandwich maker, but it was his criminal past that landed me on the floor of a financial institution, using my body as a human shield.
The day I had, started like any other. I’d stumbled into the kitchen in search of coffee, which was kindly provided by Templeton, my Aunt Loretta’s better half.
“Baked French toast will be out of the oven in a few minutes,” he said, handing me a steaming cup of caffeinated magic. He quickly put a bowl of pre-poured dog food on the floor for my Doberman pinscher, DeeDee.
“You thank!” she panted before gobbling it up.
He took his time pouring a saucer of cream for my one-eyed cat, Piss.
“The perfect pour,” she purred with delight.
“We’d starve without you.” I slid into a seat at the kitchen table, clutching the mug like it was a lifeline.
Shaking his head, he chuckled. “You’d probably eat healthier if Susan had control of the kitchen.”
“At least she’s past her wheat germ phase.” I blew on my coffee. “There was a time when she sprinkled that edible sawdust on everything.”
“She meant well.”
I nodded, impressed by how regularly he defended my aunt’s intentions.
Armani Vasquez limped into the kitchen, waving her bag of Scrabble tiles. “Tiles! We’ve got tiles!”
Even though it was still scalding hot, I gulped some of my coffee down, knowing I’d need the fortification to deal with my friend’s psychic prediction.
“New shampoo?” Templeton asked, since she was accompanied by a cloud of a heavy, sweet, floral scent that filled the room.
“Body wash.” Armani sat down opposite me. “Midnight Magnolia. We’re offering it at The Corset. Do you like it?”
“It smells like something they used to douse dead bodies with to cover up the stench of decay,” God, the lizard hanging out on my shoulder, complained.
Armani squinted at the squeaking lizard. “What did he say?”
“It’s too sweet for him,” I replied quickly.
“Here you go.” Templeton slid a cup of coffee in front of Armani. “Baked French toast is almost ready.”
“Great! Do we have any hot sauce to go with it?”
Shaking his head and muttering to himself, Templeton stuck his head in the oven. I hoped he was checking on breakfast and that he hadn’t been pushed over the edge by Armani’s latest disgusting food combination.
Oblivious to his distress, Armani slid the bag she held across the table toward me. “Pull.”
I sipped some more coffee, pulled seven tiles, and laid them out in alphabetical order for us to study.
A B D L N O R
“Bald Ron!” Armani declared excitedly. “You’re going to encounter a bald man named Ron.”
“Or maybe his name is Ronald B,” God suggested.
“Oooh!” Armani shrieked. “Be careful!”
“Of what?” I asked.
“Someone could steal property,” she explained, pushing the order of the tiles around. “Land Rob.”
“I don’t own any land,” I pointed out.
“Maybe you’re supposed to dump the lizard,” Templeton suggested.
“Yes!” Piss hissed excitedly.
“Traitor!” God yelped.
I wasn’t sure if he was referring to the cat or the man.
“It says Ban Lord,” Templeton continued.
“That might be the message,” Armani agreed. “Maybe it’s a sign that you need to leave your emotional support reptile at home.”
“Don’t listen to them, Maggie,” the lizard begged.
The kitchen timer dinged, and Templeton hurried to remove breakfast from the oven.
“Well, it’s not like it’s her fault,” my Aunt Leslie huffed indignantly. “She didn’t choose to be in agony.” She marched into the kitchen, my sister, Marlene, trailing closely behind.
“I didn’t say it was her fault,” Marlene argued. “I just said the timing is terrible.” My sister pivoted sharply in my direction. She pinned me to my seat with her laser-like glare. “You’ll help, right?”
“Help with what?” I asked carefully. I didn’t want to blindly offer my assistance, only to find myself being auctioned off to the highest bidder or something similar.
“With the girls,” Marlene spat out. “I just started my new job. I can’t take the time off.”
Even though I didn’t know what was going on, I was inclined to agree to help. After all, I’d become a paid assassin to help Katie. I was pretty much willing to do anything to take care of my nieces.
“Lorraine has to have a wisdom tooth pulled,” Leslie explained.
“So, there’s no school,” Marlene added. She opened the refrigerator, frowned at the contents, and slammed the door closed.
“I can’t watch them because I’m taking Lorraine to the oral surgeon,” Leslie explained. “And Susan can’t do it because she’s driving Griswald to a follow-up doctor appointment.”
I nodded grimly. Lawrence Griswald had still not fully recovered after being run off the road and almost dying. I’d noticed him grimacing with pain on multiple occasions when he thought nobody could see him.
“The Corset’s understaffed,” Armani interjected. “Loretta and I are swamped.”
“And I just started my new job,” Marlene wailed.
“I can take them,” I assured her.
“And I’ll help,” Templeton offered.
I flashed him a grateful smile.
I watched Marlene’s shoulders descend about an inch as tension left her body.
“How’s the new job at Sew Cute going?” Templeton asked as he c ut the baked breakfast into squares and transferred it onto plates.
“It’s good.” Marlene sat in the seat beside me. “Right now, I’m learning the inventory, but I did get to cut some fabric yesterday.”
“If it doesn’t work out, we still need help at The Corset,” Armani told her. “In fact, we—"
“It’s going to work out,” I interrupted, knowing full well that my sister had no interest whatsoever in working at the lingerie shop.
Marlene shot me a grateful grin as Templeton put steaming plates in front of her and Armani.
Aunt Leslie followed closely behind him, putting bottles of syrup and hot sauce on the table. “None for me, Templeton. I’ve got to head over to Lorraine’s place.”
“Do you want to take some with you?” he offered. “It’s pretty soft. She might be able to eat it tonight or tomorrow.”
“Maybe next time. Stay out of trouble, girls.” She waved at us and hurried out of the room.
“Leslie as nursemaid,” Marlene murmured. “Who would have thunk it?”
I nodded my agreement. For most of our lives, Leslie had been an unrepentant pothead. It was strange to see her acting like a responsible adult.
Templeton slid a plate of food in front of me.
I sniffed the treat appreciatively. There’s something about the combination of warm dough and cinnamon that makes my soul smile.
“Next week, I’m going to learn the…” Marlene’s sentence had started off with excitement but was truncated by revulsion.
Glancing up, I saw her horrified expression as she watched Armani dump hot sauce on top of her French toast. I quickly looked away and took a fortifying gulp of coffee, determined to enjoy my breakfast.
“No, not like Matilda,” my Aunt Susan sighed with exasperation as she walked into the kitchen.
My niece, Katie, was following closely behind her, a confused expression pinching her face.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, worried that Matilda, the pig, had done something to earn the ire of Susan.
“Your niece doesn’t have a piggy bank,” Susan accused. “Honestly, Margaret…” She shook her head, her disappointment lashing me like a whip.
I flinched, caught off-guard by the attack.
“Neither girl has a piggy bank,” Marlene said.
“Well, they should,” Susan declared with righteous indignation. “You girls had them.”
“Yeah, and Archie emptied them,” Marlene reminded her pointedly.
I winced at the memory of coming home when I was nine to find the back of my ceramic piggy bank cracked open and all but a single dime, removed.
“Archie,” Susan sighed. “But he wouldn’t be a problem for Katie and Alicia.”
“Actually,” Templeton interjected cautiously, “he might be.”
We all turned to look at him.
“He called earlier and said he’d be stopping by,” Templeton revealed with an apologetic shrug.
“Oh,” Marlene said worriedly.
I knew what she was thinking. Dealings with our father, Archie Lee, rarely ended well.
2
I fought the urge to run.
Twice in one day.
The second time was when holding Katie’s hand, standing in line at the bank. She was chattering about riding Irma, the donkey, when we got home. I’d gotten the feeling that I was being watched. Glancing around, I quickly found the source of the attention. A familiar redhead, wearing an unfamiliar security uniform, was glaring at me. I knew from his expression that trouble was brewing. I wanted to run.
I’d even tightened my grip on my niece and tugged her out of line, moving toward the exit. But it was too late.
It was also too late to run when I saw my father, because he spotted me first. Having finished breakfast, I’d headed out to the barn to check on Matilda. The memory of my broken piggy bank had left me wondering how the actual pig was doing. On the way, I’d stopped to toss a piece of the crust from the baked French toast to Mike, the crow.
“Sweet!” he croaked before picking it up and carrying it away.
I never made it to the barn. And I never had the chance to run.
I was halfway across the yard when Dad called, “Morning, Maggie May!”
“Run!” God urged.
“I can’t,” I muttered under my breath. I turned in the direction of my father and waved.
“Because you overindulged in cholesterol-laden carbs?” the lizard mocked.
Ignoring the lizard, I offered Dad a smile as I walked up to him. “Morning. Do you have the day off?”
“I’m going in when I leave here. We’ve got a new guy. I’ve got seniority.” He puffed out his chest with pride. “I now have supervisory responsibilities.”
“That’s great, Dad. I’m proud of you.”
“You both make it sound like he’s been entrusted with the nuclear codes, not the keys to a sandwich shop,” God groused.
I beamed at the man in front of me. I really was thrilled that he’d held down his job making sandwiches, rather than returning to a life of petty crime. “So, what brings you by?”
“I need a favor, Maggie May,” he admitted sheepishly.
“From me?”
He nodded.
“This is what you get for asking him to help you out at that carnival,” God accused. “He couldn’t just do it for you out of the goodness of his heart. He wants something in return. Don’t do it, Maggie. Helping him can only lead to trouble.”
Dad’s eyebrows shot up at the amount of squeaking emanating from my chest.
“What’s up?” I asked him carefully, knowing full well that the lizard was probably right.
“Do you remember when we opened a safe deposit box at the bank?”
“Vaguely.”
“I need to get into it.”
Immediately, my mind went to the worst-case scenario. I imagined my father attempting to rob the bank and getting locked up for the rest of his life. “Dad.” I grabbed his arm. “You can’t!”
He looked down at where I was holding on to him. “But I need to. There’s something in there I want to give Mary.”
“Mom?”
He nodded. “She’s going to love it.”
“You can’t just go rob a bank in order to give Mom a trinket,” I told him angrily.
“Who said anything about robbing a bank?” he asked with alarm.
“You said you need to get into the box,” I reminded him.
“I do. Well, technically, I need you to get into it for me.”
“Sounds fishy,” Mike, the crow, squawked from a nearby tree.
“I’m not robbing a bank,” I told him firmly. I released him, so that I could angrily cross my arms over my chest to convey how outraged I was by the suggestion.
I’d forgotten that I had a lizard in my bra.
God promptly screamed, “Sensitive skin!” when I crushed him, and then scrambled up onto my shoulder.
“Sorry,” I murmured.
“I’m not asking you to do anything illegal. I’m kind of hurt you’d even suggest such a thing,” my father complained.
I frowned at him. “Do you have any idea of how many illegal tasks you’ve given me to do over the years?”
He winced, shrugged, and said, “But I’m a changed man. Rehabilitated.”
“So why can’t you retrieve whatever this bauble is yourself?” I challenged.
“Because we put the box in your name.”
I frowned. My memory of the event was hazy. I’d still been in high school, a week away from graduating, when we’d visited the bank. I didn’t recall any details, except that I had no idea what Archie had put in the box. “Why did we put it in my name?”
