Free Trick Me, Treat Me by Leslie Kelly

bull, a john, a private dick.” When Gwen just stared at the old woman, Hildy put a hand on her hip, a picture of impatience. “Hammer and saw? A peeper?”
    Speaking slowly, to cut through her great-aunt’s obvious delight in whipping out the vocabulary of her youth, Gwenexplained, “Aunt Hildy, this man is a federal agent. He’s pursuing a very dangerous suspect. And you’ve just knocked him unconscious with a stocking full of pennies.”
    Her aunt pursed her lower lip and scrunched her nose. “Guess this isn’t going to be good for business, huh?”
    “It’s not exactly legal, either.” Not that being on the wrong side of the law had stopped Aunt Hildy in her younger days.
    Hildy shrugged and rose to her feet, rubbing her back. “Not Moe’s fault he didn’t know what to call the guy. He don’t know about the CIA cause he was dead before they got started up.”
    “He knows about Madonna,” Gwen couldn’t help muttering as she gently tapped on Miles’s cheek to try to get him to wake up.
    Either Hildy didn’t hear her or she chose to ignore the comment. “If Moe had known about the CIA, he would have said there was a spook in here, and I wouldn’t have worried. Spook doesn’t sound anything like bad man.”
    No, but it does sound like kook. She instantly regretted the unkind thought. Her Aunt Hildy was not a kook. She was a darling, loveable, eccentric, funny old former gangster’s moll who liked to talk to ghosts.
    “ G doesn’t sound like bad, either,” she replied. “Moe was right, you do need a hearing aid.” When she heard the words come out of her own mouth, she couldn’t believe she’d said them. She was agreeing with a ghost. Gwen Compton had officially lost it.
    She returned her attention to their unconscious guest. “He’s not coming to. We should call 9–1-1.”
    “Are you sure he’s who he says he is?”
    “I saw his ID. And he has a picture of the suspect.” Gwen cast a glance toward the unconscious man’s briefcase.
    Hildy reacted with typical curiosity, grabbing the case and tugging it closer. “Let’s make sure.”
    “Aunt Hildy, you leave that alone.”
    “No harm checking.”
    “ No . No checking. We can’t get involved with this. We just need to get him some medical attention.” Quickly running over several options, she ruled out the most obvious one. There was too much at stake to pick up the phone and dial 9–1–1. An arriving ambulance, with sirens and lights, would wake up the house. Including the potentially dangerous man sleeping upstairs.
    She couldn’t risk it. Not while Miles was unconscious, unable to defend himself. Then she remembered…one of their guests was a doctor. But, for all she knew, the woman could very well be the mysterious Miss Jones that Miles had been talking about. She might be every bit as dangerous to Miles as the arms dealer.
    Gwen closed her eyes, trying to remember every detail about the doctor. Thankfully, she immediately recalled how much she’d admired the lady’s emerald necklace during the cocktail party. The dark-haired woman had been wearing it with a low-cut, square-necked dress. And most important…she’d seen no star-shaped birthmark.
    “Aunt Hildy, can you please go up to the Lady in Red room and ask Dr. Wilson if she’ll come down and help?”
    “Lady in Red room,” Hildy muttered, sounding almost as disgruntled as she did whenever her heel spurs started bothering her. “I hate that name. She was a stoolie.”
    “You’re the one who insisted on the gangster theme.”
    Aunt Hildy didn’t argue the point. They’d been over it too many times. Gwen had tried to talk her out of this gangster bed-and-breakfast idea, knowing how much the old woman’s former associations had affected her life. Gwenhad spent a lot of time trying to protect her only living relative from her scandalous past. But Hildy had been adamant, and she’d gotten her way. After all, though the money to improve it had been Gwen’s, the