Authors: Melodie Campbell

Tags: #Mystery, #Humour, #FIC050000, #FIC016000, #FIC027020

The Goddaughter (8 page)

There was only one problem. My purse was still in the car. Which meant, so was my passport. Even worse, I wasn't going to get very far, because Pete had the car keys.

I turned back.

“Give me the keys,” I said, trying to look tough.

“No way. Gina, be reasonable.” Pete pleaded with both arms.

“Then I'll hitchhike.” Sometimes I can be stubborn. Okay, make that childish.

“Uncle Vince will kill you if you hitchhike,” said Joey. “It's dangerous.”

“Right. And hanging out with you morons isn't?”

“Who are you calling a moron?” Bertoni looked threatening.

“Stay away from her,” Pete growled. “She's with me.”

“You and whose army, tough guy?”

Bertoni was about six inches shorter than Pete. He poked a finger into Pete's stomach. Pete socked him with a left hook.
Crunch!
Bertoni came back at him like a steamroller, and the two hit the ground in a wrestling clench.

“Kill him!” I yelled to Pete, with all the class of a gangster moll. “Kill the bastard!” I was jumping up and down, out of reach.

This was turning into a first-class street brawl. Pete shoved his huge hand against Bertoni's face. Bertoni got in a really good jab.

“Dammit!” Pete was going to have a killer black eye in the morning. They separated for a moment. Bertoni stumbled to his feet, and I saw my chance.

I looked around for anything that could be used as a weapon and saw the petunias lining the walkway. I pulled a plant out and threw it at Bertoni. That didn't work well. So I pulled a large geranium out of the ground with both hands and started to whack him with the root end. Dirt went flying everywhere.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he yelled. He reached up to rub his eyes, and Pete rushed him, taking him down in a football tackle. I frantically looked around for more weapons, but the impatiens were too small and the dusty miller looked limp.

Pete and Bertoni were still going at it, rolling over and over on the ground, crushing the phlox and petunias beneath them. They were headed for the rosebushes when I heard the squeak of a faucet and a hiss. Joey calmly turned the hose on them.

“Shit!”

“Holy crap, that's cold!”

Then he turned it on me.

“Joey, you son of a bitch!” I shrieked. I still had the geranium in my hand, so I threw it at him. Then I charged right at him, taking the stream of water in the face.

“Give that to me,” I screamed.

Joey swung around to deflect me. I leaped on his back, wrapping both legs around his waist. He hollered, but I locked my arms around his head and he couldn't see. We swung around glued together like a rodeo cowboy on the back of a bucking bronco in a really bad western. Round and round we lurched, me holding on like a boa constrictor, and Joey trying to tear my arms off his head. Water sprayed in every direction. I tried to grab the hose out of his hand, but his arm was too long.

None of us noticed the courier truck pull up behind our line of vehicles.

“Excuse me. Is anyone here called Pete Malone?”

“I am!” Four of us said in unison.

I slid down Joey's back and landed with a thump on the ground.

“He is!” I said and pointed at Pete.

“I have a parcelâ”

“I'll take that!” said Joey. He reached for it.

“NO!” said the delivery man, pulling it away. “I can only give it to Pete Malone.”

“I'm Pete.” Pete stood up, dripping wet. Mud streaked his shirt. A pink petunia stuck in the side of his hair.

“He is too,” I said. “I swear it.” Not that my word was worth anything. I pushed myself to my feet.

“May I see your id, sir?”

Pete stuck his hand in the back pocket of his pants and came out with a soggy wallet. He flipped it open.

“Here you go, sir.” The delivery guy handed the parcel to Pete, who handed it to me. I handed it to Joey.

The delivery guy looked at all of us and shook his head. “Have a nice day.” He turned and walked back to the van, still shaking his head.

Joey opened the box.

“The shoes!” he said. “Finally.”

I peered over his shoulders. “Those are the ones. The rocks are in the heel. Heels from hell. You can keep them. Are we done here now?”

Joey nodded. His phone rang, and he pulled it from a pocket. He listened, and then his brow furrowed.

“Anything wrong?” I asked.

“For some reason, I have to go meet an ice-cream truck over by D'Youville. Who do we know that's got an ice-cream truck?”

Oops. No way I wanted to get involved in that again. Time to vamoose.

I walked over to the car, reached in for my purse and took out my cell phone.

I punched in numbers.

“Mission accomplished,” I said into the phone.

“The rocks are where they belong?”

“Sammy, what is the point of me being obscure if you are going to spell it all out?” Jeesh, sometimes I wonder if anyone in my family is cut out for this line of work.

“Good job, Gina. Is paperboy still with you?”

“His name is Pete,” I reminded him.

“Got that. Sweetheart, you are going to marry the guy, right? And bring him into the family?”

“Umâ¦that's a good question. A really good one. Yup. I'd say it's a doozie.” I could feel the heat rising up my face.

“'Cause he really has to be part of the family now. We don't want to hafta whack the guy, you know?”

I gave a little strangled laugh.

Pete poked me in the arm.

“What does he want to know?”

I covered the cell phone speaker with my hand.

“He wants to know if you're going to marry me.”

Pete grabbed the phone from me.

“Hello, Sammy. The answer is yes.”

I stared at him with my mouth open, water dripping down my hair and onto my neck.

“Of course I know what I'm getting into. She's a nutcase,” Pete said into the speaker. “Oh. You meant the family.”

“Give it to me! Give it to me! Give itâ” I tried to yank it out of his hand, but he held it up above my head.

“Sorry, Sammy, I have to go now. We both need to dry off. See you soon.” He clicked off and handed it back to me. Then he reached forward with both arms and gathered me up in a wet embrace.

“You're crazy to get involved with me.” My voice sounded muffled.

Pete kissed the top of my soggy head. “I'm crazy all right. Crazy about you.”

I raised my face and looked into his eyes. Nobody would be whacking anyone, if I could help it.

“You don't know how relieved I am to hear that,” I said. And I smiled.

MELODIE CAMPBELL
has been a banker, marketing director, college instructor, comedy writer and possibly the worst runway model ever. Her work has appeared in
Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine
,
Star Magazine, Flash Fiction, Canadian Living, Toronto Star, The Globe and Mail
and many more.
The Goddaughter
is Melodie's third published novel.

Titles in the Series