Agnes and the Hitman Read online

  He was definitely missing something, but since it had happened eighteen years ago, it wasn’t something he cared about. “How many people are coming?”

  “Not that many. About a hundred.”

  “That’s a lot. And half of them are from Maria’s side of the family, right? Fifty Fortunatos? And Maria’s father’s family?”

  “Maria’s father is not around. It’s just the Fortunatos. But it’s not like you think. I know Maria. She’s not a mob princess. Lisa Livia raised her away from all that. She’s just a nineteen-year-old girl in love with a preppie golf course designer who’s got more money than God, and they’re going to have a nice wedding on my lawn and then go have babies dressed in Ralph Lauren. Nobody will be kissing the Godfather’s ring or whatever the hell that is. He’s going to have cake like everybody else and then leave.”

  Shane went very still. “The Don. Michael Fortunato. He’s coming?”

  “He’s Maria’s great-uncle, of course he’s coming.”

  Shane rubbed his head. Fucking Joey. “You didn’t mention that.”

  “Shane, I don’t think the kid last night wanted to take Rhett because the Don is coming. The Don’s never even met Rhett. They don’t move in the same circles.”

  Shane took a deep breath, but then the coffeemaker beeped, and he took a Cranky Agnes mug from a hook under the cabinet and poured out a cup, deciding he’d said enough. “Coffee?”

  Agnes looked over at his cup. “That looks like mud.”

  “I like it strong.” He sipped the brew, heartened by the way it reached up into his brain and pressed go, and then he took his cup back to his seat at the counter, where he had a better view of Agnes, which was the only thing about this mess that was any good at all.

  So there was another question for Joey. After You know anything about that old mob gun at Agnes’s, Joey? and You acquainted with that Thibault family, Joey? and Why did you ask Agnes about Rhett, Joey? he was definitely going to mention You think maybe the Don coming has something to do with this, Joey? Jesus. “Okay, anything else happen this week you want to tell me?”

  “Nope.” Agnes stirred the red pepper in the butter, and the smell made Shane dizzy, sharp and sweet and pungent. Iwant eggs, he thought, and tried to get his mind back on the job.

  “Think harder,” he said. “Anything this week that was out of the ordinary?”

  “Sure, lots.”

  Agnes was driving him crazy with the buttery pepper and sausage smells. She frowned down at the pan as she talked, her cheeks flushed from the heat from the pan, her sweats sticking to her with the humidity, and that wasn’t helping his concentration, either.

  “The baker quit yesterday, so I’m making a wedding cake,” she was saying, “Golf Magazine did a rave article on Palmer’s latest golf course, the Flamingo, calling him a genius of green design, and he’s only twenty-eight, so we’re all very proud. Doyle told me I was going to have to replace the driveway bridge pretty soon or learn to swim, and I told him I have no money and to shore it up with whatever fell off the house next.”

  “Doyle?”

  “Handyman.” Agnes peered over her steamed-up glasses at the pepper. “I moved in and he showed up.” Shane focused. “How long ago?”

  Agnes used the back of her hand to push her glasses back up her nose. “About three months. I don’t think he’s spent them sneaking up on Rhett, if that’s what you’re getting at.” She tipped the eggs into the pepper and butter and then picked up the pan, tilting it so that the egg covered the bottom. Then she looked up. “Listen, nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Well, except for the kid with the gun. And you.”

  The phone rang and she answered it. “Good morning, Reverend Miller. Yes, I’m sure Maria’s a good Christian girl. What?” Agnes scowled, her face twisting behind those big red-rimmed glasses. “Of course she’s been baptized-she’s a Catholic. Yes, I know for sure, I’m her godmother, I was there.” She listened another moment, shaking her head the entire time. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Right. You bet. You’re welcome. See you Saturday. Good-bye.” She hung up and said, “Moron,” and turned back to her eggs.

  Shane decided to let that conversation pass. “Okay, let’s go back to the dog. How many people know Rhett is here?”

  “Anybody who read the flyers I put up when I found him on the front porch. Anybody who’s been outhere in the past four months. Anybody who gets the County Clarion.” She stuck a spatula under the slowly cooking egg and lifted it so that the uncooked stuff ran underneath it, concentrating on it as if it were the most important thing in the world.

  “The County what?” Shane said.

  “The County Clarion. The local newspaper. One of the papers that prints my column. I did one on cooking for dogs, and instead of my usual column picture they ran a big one of Rhett and me.”

  Shane sighed. “And you wait until now to mention this.”

  “What? The paper?” Agnes looked up at him. “Big deal. I’m telling you, everybody around here already knew about Rhett. He rides with me in the truck every time I go into town. There’s nobody on the side of the road that hasn’t been hit with his flying spit. He is not a secret.” She picked up the cheese, took a grater from a hook on the wall, and began to grate cheese over the eggs in long pale strips.

  Mozzarella, Shane thought. Memories of Joey’s diner sizzled in his brain. “When did this paper come out?”

  “Yesterday morning.”

  Shane closed his eyes. It was a damn good thing she was cute. “And you didn’t think this was significant?”

  Agnes kept an eye on the cheese and the eggs, and at exactly the right moment, she flipped the omelet over and slid it onto a plate. She took down a knife, halved the omelet with one clean slice, and transferred half onto another plate. Then she piled sausage on both plates, the smell making Shane dizzy with memory and hunger. “No,” she said, handing the plate to him. “Salsa?”

  “Yes, please,” he said, and she went around the counter and put a jar on the table and motioned him over. “So this paper-”

  “Toast, English muffins, or bagels?” she asked as he moved to the table.

  “Muffin,” Shane said, trying not to go headfirst into the omelet. It had looked so simple when she’d made it, but when he cut into it and tasted it, he realized he’d missed some stuff while he’d been making coffee. There were herbs in there or spices or something, and the egg was light-Fluffy, he thought- and the pepper still had crunch to it but was buttery, too. “This is good,” he said without thinking.

  “Thank you.” Agnes sat down across from him with her omelet.

  Then, having waited to show he was tough, he cut into the sausage and tasted it. “Damn.”

  “I know, it’s amazing, isn’t it?” Agnes said. “I don’t know where Joey gets it, but it’s fabulous.”

  Shane put his fork down. Fucking Keyes and memories. He picked up his fork again and began to eat. “So the paper-”

  “Are you suggesting that somebody looked at the picture in the paper and developed a burning desire to own Rhett?” She shook her head. “You didn’t see the picture.”

  “No, but I’d like to.” Shane loaded his fork with omelet and sausage together.

  “I threw mine out, but Joey will have one.”

  The muffin halves popped up from the toaster on the counter behind him, and she stood up to get them, the scent of her mixing with the hot yeasty smell of the muffins, and the buttery, peppery smell of the eggs, and the fat, spicy smell of the sausage, and Shane lost track of where he was in the conversation.

  “What?”

  “The Clarion.” Agnes put a hot muffin in front of him and passed him the butter. “Joey will have one.”

  It was real butter. He’d been pretty sure it was from the smell when she’d cooked his eggs in it, but now he bit into the muffin and the taste exploded in his mouth. A man could get used to food like this. “Okay, was there anything in the article-?”

  Agnes shook her head, her curls bouncing, an