Free The Hitwoman and the Neurotic Witness by J. B. Lynn Page A

“She’s just hungry.”
    “I don’t want her taking a bite out of me,” he teased nervously.
    DeeDee gave him a long considering look before barking, “Meat!”
    I chuckled at the look of terror on Zeke’s face. It was a good thing he couldn’t understand the dog. “Let’s see what Susan wants to feed you,” I said, ushering her upstairs and waving for him to follow us.
    “I’m going to check on Gypsy,” Zeke declared, rushing up the stairs toward the bedrooms.
    He hadn’t been exaggerating about the tension. I sensed it the moment I stepped into the dining room. Bob and the marshal were studiously ignoring each other while Aunt Leslie prattled on about seeing a bunny at the side of the road.
    I eyed her carefully, trying to determine whether she was high again, or just being her usual air-headed self.
    “Is that you, Maggie?” Leslie asked, staring right at me.
    I turned and peered at the empty spot behind where I stood. “I think so.”
    Both of Susan’s love interests chuckled.
    “Is that your dog?” Leslie asked like she’d never set eyes on the Doberman before.
    Deciding that she must be higher than the Empire State Building, I chose to humor her. “Yes, she is.”
    Confused, the dog cocked her head and asked in her breathy, bimbo-y voice. “Crazy?”
    “High,” I answered.
    “Hi?” the dog repeated. “Bye?”
    “Go see if you can get Susan to feed you,” I said, shooing her toward the kitchen.
    A mutt on a mission, she trotted away.
    “Obedient dog,” Bob said.
    I smiled at the builder. I liked the simple, honest man and thought he was a good match for my demanding aunt. Plus he didn’t have the power to arrest my hired-gun butt so I thought he was a better long-term match. “She’s selectively obedient.”
    “Aren’t we all?” he joked. “Susan said to tell you to have a seat. She’s heating a plate for you. Chicken Cording something.”
    “Chicken Cordon Blue,” Griswald corrected.
    Bob ignored him. “She told me your friend Armani is going to be here.”
    I nodded, slipping into a chair.
    “I like her,” Bob said.
    “Everyone does,” I muttered.
    “Do I like her?” Leslie asked. She was studying her reflection in the shiny silver punch bowl on the sideboard like she’d never seen herself before.
    “Like who?” Susan asked, plunking a steaming plate in front of me.
    “Armani,” Bob supplied.
    “Everyone likes Armani,” Susan snapped.
    I looked down at the chicken, ham, and melted Swiss and my stomach roiled traitorously. “I’m not really hungry.”
    “Nonsense.” Susan waved her hand at me like I was a pesky fly. “Eat.”
    Susan has never understood my aversion to Swiss cheese, but just the sight of it is enough to make me want to toss my cookies.
    Thankfully the FBI saved me from having to refuse her culinary creation.
    “I’m starving,” Aaron Griswald said as he strode into the room.
    I wordlessly handed him my plate.
    He dug into it with gusto, without even bothering to sit down.
    “Animals eat standing at troughs,” his brother reminded him disdainfully.
    The FBI agent glared at the U.S. Marshal. The marshal scowled back. Neither blinked. Neither moved.
    Aaron swallowed his mouthful of food. Without taking his eyes off his brother he said, “This is delicious.”
    “At least someone appreciates my cooking,” Susan said.
    “I appreciate it, honey,” Bob assured her.
    Breaking eye contact with his sibling, Marshal Griswald flashed her a grateful smile. “As do I.”
    Susan beamed.
    I pulled out a chair for the younger Griswald, indicating he should sit. He did so, but seemed hesitant to relinquish his hold on the plate of food.
    “Do I like you?” Leslie asked.
    Startled, the FBI agent put the plate down with a clatter. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
    “This is Susan’s sister, Leslie,” Griswald said by way of introduction.
    “Hello.” Aaron nodded a polite greeting.
    “Does everyone like you?” Leslie asked.
    “Not him,”