Authors: Christina A. Burke
I could hear Margaret humming behind me. "I'm making a nice little treat for your puppy too," she called. And then it hit me—who had left the suicide note? It couldn't have been Sherry because she was with me. She'd had an accomplice.
Max growled. I glanced over at him; there seemed to be two of him looking back at me. "Diana?" Mark said. "Are you there!" he shouted, but he seemed so far away. So far away. I felt my eyes getting heavy. I dropped the phone.
"Oh, dear," Margaret called from the kitchen, "everything okay out there?" I could hear her, the humming getting closer now. Despite my dazed state, the hairs on my neck stood up as I recognized the tune. She was humming "The Itsy Bitsy Spider."
She came into the living room and peered down at me.
The spider sat down beside her, the spider sat down beside her,
my brain repeated over and over again.
"Now dear, I'm going to need you to eat more of your soup." She took the bowl from my lax hands and lifted up a spoonful to my lips. I tried to swipe it away, but my hand fell short and landed in my lap. My fingers felt the coolness of the tracking bracelet.
"Well, you are a difficult one," she said cheerfully as she picked the spoon up and brought it to my lips again. "We were waiting patiently for our little singing fly to come home for a visit. And then that idiot Sal and his vulgar ways ruined everything. I should've known better. Young people today," she sighed and clucked her tongue against her teeth. "Sherry's no exception. I thought the scrapbook pictures absolutely ridiculous, but Sherry wouldn't listen. My granddaughter doesn't have what it takes to be The Spider. Oh, she did her best I suppose. And I certainly gave her all the help I could. An old friend ran errands for me and kept tabs on Sal Bonanno. He started getting desperate after the first attempts failed. Machine guns in broad daylight, so coarse," she shuddered. "But what can you expect from a Bonanno? They're all like that. A few years back, they staged a coup and put me out to pasture. I'd hoped my granddaughter would become the next Spider and make it right. But I see it's all up to me again."
She shoved one more spoonful into my mouth, and I spit it out as best I could. I couldn't move, could barely see, everything was in slow motion. I focused hard, and with every ounce of coordination I had left my finger pressed the beacon on the bracelet.
"Come here, little doggie, and get your treat," Margaret said with a sneeze. I saw her lean down towards Max just seconds before everything went dark. I heard growls and screams and then nothing.
* * *
I came awake with a start and a gasp. Pain shot through my neck. My head felt like it would explode. Sounds everywhere. People talking. Someone saying, "We've got her back."
A man's face leaned in. "Do you know your name?"
"Diana Hudson," I croaked. "Where am I?"
"You're at the hospital. You were brought to the ER yesterday evening; you'd been poisoned."
I tried to wrap my head around what had happened. I closed my eyes for what felt like a few seconds.
"Diana. Hey, wake up."
I sniffed first. It was definitely Mark. I opened my eyes. "I take it you got there in the nick of time?"
There were tears in his eyes. He leaned down and grabbed my shoulders, hugging me to him. "The very nick."
"Is Max okay?" I asked, suddenly remembering the growl and scream.
"Max is a hero. After you passed out he must've attacked Margaret. He was standing on her chest, growling when we walked in the room." He shook his head. "It was unbelievable."
"He's my circus dog," I said with a weak smile.
"We found her on her back covered in soup and barely breathing. The paramedics said she was in anaphylactic shock from her dog allergy—she was covered in white dog hair—and that it looked like she'd broken her hip in the fall too."
I smiled at the thought of Max rolling all over Margaret's prone body just for good measure. Then I remembered something. "The soup! She tried to feed it to Max before I passed out." I tried to sit up.
Mark pushed me gently down. "Max's fine. He didn't touch the soup."
There was a commotion at the door that set my already frayed nerves on edge. "Now what?" Mark grumbled as he turned towards it.
A nurse had Granddaddy by the arm and was tugging insistently at his sleeve. "Git off me, you shrew! That's my granddaughter in there. I got to make me peace, before it's too late."
Mark waved the nurse off. Granddaddy approached the bed with his hat in hand, saying, "There's my poor Queenie Baby." He patted my hand and sniffed.
"I'm going to be okay, Granddaddy." I put my hand over his.
"I know that's what the old sawbones said, but I had to make me peace just in case." I could see Mark shake his head out of the corner of my eye. "See, girl," Granddaddy continued, "I know'd there was something squirrelly about Margaret an' I didn't say nothin'. She's jest so dad-burned pretty; I was smitten." He looked over at Mark. "You know what I mean, right?" Mark nodded. I got a little tingle thinking about Mark being smitten with me.
"Anyhow's she was always askin' questions about you an' I jest didn't think nothin' of it. Made me feel important to answer her questions." He looked sadly down at his hat. "She hornswoggled me, Queenie Baby, and it almost cost you your life. I'm sorry."
He leaned down and hugged me gently. "It's not your fault, Granddaddy. We were all hornswoggled. I'm okay now. And I'm so sorry for you that Margaret turned out to be The Spider." Poor Granddaddy finding love at this late stage of life and then losing it because his girlfriend was an assassin.
Granddaddy waved his hand. "Well, I'll miss her, but I won't miss her naggin' me about my beard. Always askin' me to shave it off. She wouldn't let me past second base because of it!" he cackled.
The nurse stuck her head in and saved us from more tales of elderly base running. Granddaddy hugged me tightly again as he left.
The door closed, and it was quiet again.
"Am I really safe now?" I asked, looking up at Mark.
He nodded. "Sal Bonanno took the deal. The information he provided will shut The Spider assassin ring down for good. Tyrell's hit contract on you is null and void."
I smiled and settled back into my pillow. He continued, "We got lucky with Sal. He couldn't stay between the lines enough to make it up the chain of command in the Mafia. So he went into the assassin business. His family fully supported his decision. Although taking this deal and going into witness relocation is going to limit his job prospects as an assassin, the mob will probably turn a blind eye as long as he keeps his mouth shut about them. Eventually, they'll find another ring of assassins to farm out hits to." He touched my cheek and kissed my lips. "So, the only danger I see in your future is living with me and supervising at the tampon factory."
I smiled. I liked the sound of living with him. It wasn't so scary anymore. I looked around the room, and a giant bouquet of flowers caught my eye. "Wow! Those from you?" I asked.
Mark made a face. "Nope. Those would be from Roger and Phil. They've been calling every hour checking on your progress."
I rolled my eyes. "Let me guess, there's more to it than concern for my well-being."
"Yep. From what I can gather they have an offer for a West Coast tour from a major label. Full album production to follow. But they want the whole package."
I stared at the bouquet, thinking back to where this had all started. Playing in local bars, making people smile, hearing them say, "You should send this in. It's better than anything on the radio today."
I'd come full circle. Gone from rock star wannabe, to the real thing with a big label clamoring for my signature. I'd made some good friends, had some wild adventures, and met the man of my dreams.
"I already talked to Carlos. The tour's going on with one less pirate. I'm hangin' up my hat, Mark." I smiled at him and patted his hand.
It was time to go back to my roots. Hang out on the slower, lower Eastern Shore, and play a few hometown gigs. You gotta catch yourself, girl.
He leaned down to kiss me, saying against my lips, "Maybe you could save it for special occasions. And those black boots weren't bad either."
I giggled and pulled him towards me.
* * * * *
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* * * * *
Christina wrote her first novel, a time-travel romance, more than twenty years ago. Writing fell by the wayside as family and career obligations took over. She earned advanced degrees in business, taught for colleges, managed staffing agencies, and started several entrepreneurial ventures, until she found her way back to fiction writing through the unlikely avenue of metastatic breast cancer. She believes laughter is the best medicine and hopes her readers find a cure for what ails them following the wacky antics of the characters she creates. Christina, her husband, Jim, and their two children live in Dover, Delaware with the family sidekick, a shitzu-poodle mix named Max.
To learn more about Christina A. Burke, visit her online at:
http://caburke.com
* * * * *
Queenie Baby novels
:
Queenie Baby: On Assignment
Queenie Baby: Out of Office
Queenie Baby: Pass the Eggnog
(a holiday novella)
Queenie Baby: On Tour
The original music performed by our heroine, Diana Hudson, is based on the real-life songs of singer/songwriter Tad Jones. You can find Tad and his music at
tadjonesmusic.com
.
Download my favorite Tad Jones' song
"
Do They Have Rum" (a.k.a. "The Rum Song") on
iTunes
!
* * * * *
If you enjoyed the Jamie Winters Mysteries series, check out this sneak peek of another funny, romantic mystery from
Gemma Halliday Publishing
:
MOTION FOR MURDER
by
KELLY REY
CHAPTER ONE
I knew right away that it wasn't going to be a typical day at the law firm of Parker, Dennis, and Heath. For one thing, there was only one client waiting in the reception area when I got to work, a huge man in a ketchup-stained T-shirt with a pelt like a squirrel and work boots that spoke to days spent hiking in landfills.
For another thing, that client was holding a gun.
I saw only three ways to handle the situation. Three became two when I saw I had a dead cell phone. My next option was to approach him calmly, discuss his issues coolly, and dispatch him to the nearest police station quickly. Or make a hard left, flee to the kitchen, and hide behind the refrigerator until braver souls took charge. That's why I was hugging the SubZero when Missy Clark came in the back door. Missy had been a secretary with the firm for a lot of years, and she'd seen a lot of things. But a colleague cowering beside a major appliance wasn't one of them, and it stopped her in her tracks.
"Hey, Jamie." Her right eyebrow lifted. "What're you doing?"
"Ssh." I cocked my head toward the reception area and put my finger to my lips in the universal gesture for
Be quiet—can't you tell there's a kook with a gun out there?
Missy tiptoed over to squat beside me. "What's going on?"
I pointed. "There's a gun out there with a house attached to it."
She took a peek. "Adam Tiddle." She sighed. "He's harmless. He's mad because we didn't take his case. He thought it'd make him a millionaire. He's been showing up ever since Dougie turned him down." She shook her head. "I told him it was going to bite him in the briefs."
"I don't think biting is what this guy has in mind," I said. "Unless chewing and swallowing are involved. I'm not going out there until he's gone."
Missy shrugged. "He's not as bad as he looks. He was in a car accident."
"I've seen him," I said. "No car accident did that."
"His neighbor was changing a flat, and Adam was holding up the car," Missy said.
I nodded. "And the jack broke?"
Missy looked puzzled. "What jack?"
Oh.
"That's the problem. There's no negligence there except for his own. He just doesn't get it." She pushed herself up. "I should call Dougie and warn him."
Dougie was Douglas J. Heath, Esquire, commonly known in secretarial circles as Dougie Digits for the creative and offensive use of his eleven fingers. Thank goodness the eleventh was only an extra pinky finger. I shuddered to think of the damage he could do with another thumb. Dougie had a penchant for spandex and a predilection for ogling secretaries in sundresses. He was the approximate weight of a garden gnome, with a perpetual swagger, and arms that formed two hairy parentheses to his torso. Dougie had once sued a Chinese restaurant for causing a stress disorder because its fortune cookie had predicted grim tidings, and that pretty much tells you all you need to know about Dougie.
Before Missy could pick up the phone, the gnome himself burst through the back door, all pink and flushed with the effort of hustling the six feet from his Mercedes. Everything left Dougie pink and flushed. He broke a sweat lifting his bottle of vitamin pills. Dougie wore the most expensive shoes, the most beautifully tailored suits, and the priciest haircuts, and he still looked like the sleaziest personal injury lawyer in town. He was holding a DVD in one hand that was either a memorialization of his weekend escapades or a copy of his latest commercial. I've seen his commercials. I wasn't sure which would be worse.