Mosquito Bite Murder Page 3

  My CIA colleague and friend and I scrambled to our feet.

  I couldn't believe it! It really was her! "Hilly, what are you doing here?"

  I was careful not to ask if she was here for Maria. Hilly Vinton was an assassin who wasn't an assassin because the CIA doesn't have assassins because that would be wrong—in other words, she totally was. I think I'm still required to say that even though I'm retired.

  Hilly still worked for Langley. Was it possible she was here to bring Maria in? I couldn't recall if the two women were friends or not. But even so, it might not matter if Hilly was on the job. And if she was, I needed to get word to Maria.

  "Nice to see you too." She dusted herself off.

  "Hilly!" The girls squealed, ran over, and surrounded her.

  Hilly hugged them all in one awkward group embrace.

  "What are you doing here?" Riley repeated my question as he approached carefully. He and the Amazonian killer didn't always see eye to eye, and since Hilly was rather quirky, it was dangerous to assume she was harmless.

  "Riley is camping?" Hilly's eyes grew wide.

  "I know, right?" I snickered.

  "Hey!" Riley protested. "You invited me, remember?" He didn't go so far as to say why, meaning he was thinking the same thing I was. That Hilly might be a threat.

  Hilly turned to the girls. "Hey guys! I brought some C-4!"

  "Yaaaay!" the girls cheered.

  "No one is using explosives." I cut their cheers short. "This is a nature preserve." I held up one finger. "And what does that mean?"

  In unison, the girls said, "We always leave a place better than when we found it."

  Their announcement made me smile. "That's right."

  Hilly made a face. "Spoilsport."

  "You can't blow up anything in here," I repeated.

  She pinched her thumb and forefinger together. "Not even just a tiny bit?" She looked around. "There's lots of trees here. They wouldn't notice one down."

  I shook my head. "Nope."

  After two seconds of considering this, the assassin brightened. "Okay!"

  Quirky didn't begin to explain the woman, but then again I'd never met an assassin who wasn't. In fact, even though she was tall, bronzed, and had long dark hair that she currently had braided around the crown of her head, Hillary Vinton was a smidge delusional in that she believed she was constantly getting confused for the much shorter, older, blonde Hillary Clinton. And that was the least of her personality anomalies. The biggest was that she always left her victims' bodies in dumpsters.

  Which made me think. In a hushed voice I asked, "You aren't responsible for the guy we found, are you?"

  Maybe it was because of her line of work, but she didn't look particularly surprised by my comment.

  Hilly cocked her head to one side, looking a bit like a killer cockatoo. "What do you mean?"

  I led her over to the guy we'd found. He was still breathing but still knocked out.

  She bent over and studied the man. "I don't think so…" After a moment she straightened up. "No. I'm sure of it. I didn't do it."

  "Are you sure?" Riley asked. "You seemed to hesitate a little."

  Hilly turned to him. "Of course I am. He's still alive, isn't he? Totally against my professional code of ethics. Besides, I always stand by my work. One hundred and seven percent guaranteed satisfaction."

  "That's what my mom calls a good work ethic." Ava nodded. "You should be on my mayoral campaign team."

  Betty nodded. "You'd be a good help with the other candidates. Particularly the current mayor."

  I shook my head, "No one is offing the mayor." It was time to change the subject. "Seriously, what are you doing here?"

  She shrugged. "I just got back from a nice, relaxing vacation in Syria and thought I'd stop by."

  "Who goes on vacation in Syria?" Riley asked doubtfully.

  "And"—Hilly ignored him—"I was in town to visit your druids and Kelly said you were here."

  My jaw dropped. "Kelly? Kelly told you where we were?"

  Kelly thought Hilly was a terrible influence on the girls. She was mad at me for even introducing the assassin who isn't an assassin to the troop.

  "Yup." Hilly's eyes went up and to the left as she considered this. "Yes. That's my story."

  "Your story?" Riley asked.

  She looked genuinely confused. "What do you mean?"

  Before Riley could answer, I cut in. "You said you were visiting my druids?"

  That's right. I have druids. They were a group of surly teenagers who call themselves the Cult of NicoDerm and who own an old Lutheran church they've renamed the Chapel of Despair. I'm their Bird Goddess because they think I can communicate with birds. I can't. Not really. There's a big difference between just talking to a king vulture and actually having a conversation with one, and I hadn't achieved that level of communication yet.

  "Yeah. I just wanted to see how the movie rights are going for Beetle Dork. I called Kelly, and here I am."

  I suppressed a shudder at the mention of the comic book that Hilly wrote and turned over to the cult. It featured me. Unflatteringly. I was Beetle Dork.

  "Where did you come into the preserve?" I asked.

  She pointed in the opposite direction from where we had come, which was at least a two-day hike.

  "You came all this way to visit?" I pointed at the thick forest she'd emerged from. "Through that? Just for fun?"

  Hilly shrugged. "What? It's not like it's hard."

  "Where's your backpack?" Riley asked.

  "I left it down there." She pointed to the woods.

  "Go get it," I suggested.

  She shook her head. "Later. I don't need it now."

  Riley gave me a silent signal indicating he was very suspicious. Well, it was that or he was letting me know that a platypus was going to give a zither concert later. I kind of hoped it was the latter, if I'm completely honest. I do love zither music.

  "So," she said quickly, "who's the almost stiff?"

  "No clue," I admitted. "I wonder if he's in a coma. Nothing's bringing him around."

  She looked at me. "Want me to…" She drew her finger across her throat. "No charge."

  I waved her off. "It hardly seems right, with you on a social call and all that."

  "Can you kill him with one finger?" Betty asked.

  I cut Hilly off before she could answer the girl. "No, we don't need you to kill him. We would like to help him."

  The woman shrugged. "Suit yourself."

  "Thanks for stopping by," Riley said. "But we've got a Pewter Award to earn so…"

  "Bronze," Hilly corrected. "It's a Bronze Award."

  "Kelly told you that?" Huh. It seemed strange for Kelly to give Hilly that much info.

  Hilly shook her head. "I just assumed, considering the age of the girls and all." She turned back to the guy on the ground. "If you don't want me to float the weasel…" She wiggled her eyebrows as she used slang for what she really meant. "I can bring him around." Hilly used strange euphemisms for taking someone out. I thought this one was particularly fun and made a mental note to come up with my own phrase using vampire ticks.

  Hilly bent down and using her index finger and pinkie, poked him in the breastbone three times, followed by a poke on each side of the clavicle.

  The man shot up into a sitting position with a loud gasp. His eyes bulged as he took gulping breaths.

  "Amazing!" Lauren gushed as the two Kaitlyns took Hilly's hands in theirs. "Want to help us set up tents?"

  For a moment I thought about stopping them. We didn't need to set up tents if we were going to dodge whoever did this to the guy. But maybe it would be better for the girls to distract Hilly so Riley and I could interrogate him.

  "Sure!" Hilly agreed, obviously not concerned they'd be setting up a campsite next to a place where a man was left for dead.

  "So you can bring an almost dead dude around with two fingers," Betty said as they turned away. "But how do you kill them with only one?"<
br />
  "The trick," I heard her say as her voice trailed off and they walked away, "is which finger to use and where you put it…"

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "I don't like it," Riley murmured to me as he watched the man struggle to regain his senses. "Hilly doesn't just magically appear in the woods in the middle of nowhere for a visit. Do you think she's looking for Maria?"

  I shrugged. "I wouldn't put anything past her. Hilly's a professional." I hesitated to say any more since we now had a witness.

  The man stopped sputtering and started to notice we were there. Still covered by a layer of bandages, he looked from one of us to the other before surveying his surroundings with a start.

  "What's your story?" I asked.

  "Who are you? What are you doing here?" He backed up using his hands and feet. With all the bandages, he kind of resembled a mummified crab.

  "Relax," I soothed. "I'm Merry, and this is Riley. We were hiking with our Girl Scout troop"—I waved in the direction of the girls—"and found you here. You're safe now."

  The man looked over both shoulders. "Safe? You're joking. I'm not safe anywhere! You guys have to get out of here! They might come back, and then they'll kill you too!"

  My legs were starting to burn in the crouched position, so I stood up. Riley maintained his position as if it didn't hurt to do so—the bastard. The dude stayed sitting.

  "What's your name?" Riley asked.

  The man's eyes narrowed. "Chad?"

  "You aren't sure?" I asked.

  "I don't know you guys, and it's better if you don't know me," the man said. His voice was high-pitched and wheezy, like Scottish bagpipes.

  "Okay, Chad," Riley tried again. "How did you end up here? Brisk after-lunch walk from the country club?"

  Chad seemed confused until he looked down at his shoes. "Oh. Um, yeah. That's exactly what happened."

  "Really?" I folded my arms over my chest. "You just said 'they' are going to kill you and us."

  "Must be some overly eager country club security team," Riley whistled. "What did you do? Cheat at golf?"

  Chad didn't say anything.

  "I'm sorry you're in this situation," I said. "But if my troop of eleven-year-olds is in danger and you won't tell me how or why, I might have to finish you off myself."

  Chad visibly gulped but refused to speak. Instead, he began to remove the bandages that encircled him.

  This riled me. This guy knew my girls were in danger but wasn't offering any information. And I could tell by Riley's narrowed eyes and grim mouth that he was pissed off too. And worst yet, Chad was wasting all of our bandages!

  What would be the proper procedure in this case? Threaten to break a finger? Break two without threatening and then break a third? Too bad we didn't have a car battery after all. What I wouldn't give for a dozen fire ants, some mayonnaise, and a three-foot long pipe cleaner.

  As Chad took off the last of the bandages and dumped them in a pile on the tarp, he seemed a bit more relaxed. Relieved even. Did that mean that now that he'd calmed down, the threat wasn't as dire? This man knew something.

  "I'm going to go borrow the zip gun," I said to Riley.

  Chad turned pale. "What?"

  "I mean, it probably won't kill him, but it will definitely maim," I continued, wondering if that was true. It depended on which of the girls made it. If it was any girl other than Betty, it probably fired dandelions and sparkled. On the other hand, if Betty had made it, it might be able to shoot through him and the tree behind him.

  Riley nodded. "Don't forget the lighter fluid. I think I packed about a gallon of that."

  As if he'd let something like that near his designer backpack. But it was part of the illusion I'd started, so I nodded all the same.

  "You won't hurt me!" Chad's protest seemed a bit weak.

  I got close, my face inches from his. "When it comes to keeping those little girls out of danger, you don't know what I'd do."

  Riley agreed. "She's ex-CIA. I wouldn't mess with her."

  Chad was startled. "CIA?" he squeaked.

  "Now"—I sighed and threw my arms in the air—"I have to kill him. Way to tip my hand there," I chastised Riley.

  "Kill me?" Chad's voice went up a whole octave.

  "Well, that's what we do when we're not camping with Girl Scouts," Riley said.

  I laughed. "Remember that Bosnian spy in Moldova?"

  Riley laughed. "The one who screamed like a goat?"

  "Only when we used the super-heated tweezers." I nodded. "Good thing you brought lighter fluid."

  We were making part of this up—there really had been a Bosnian spy in Moldova and we had been able to make him talk, but we didn't torture him with super-heated tweezers. That was all improv, and once again I wondered why I could do stuff like this convincingly but still couldn't act. Maybe it was just Fiddler on the Roof. That musical was tough.

  We both laughed as Chad started to gag.

  "Am I missing all the fun?" Hilly joined us. "Are we torturing him?"

  Of course we weren't really going to torture him because that would be wrong. "Absolutely! Want in?"

  The girls were setting up a fire pit. A big one. That was helpful.

  Chad's mouth dropped open as he scanned the very tall woman standing in front of him. "She's CIA too?"

  Hilly nodded. "Assassin. At your service."

  "Aw dang," I said. "We aren't supposed to admit we have assassins. Now we really do have to kill him."

  "Not until after we're done," Riley pointed out.

  "Too bad there's not a dumpster for at least thirty miles," Hilly mused. "I suppose a brush pile would have to do."

  "We'll have to remove his head and fingerprints," I added.

  "That won't work." Riley shook his head. "Forensics are pretty good these days. We could find a couple of wolves. Or bears. That should take care of…most of him."

  "Stop it!" Chad screamed.

  The girls looked up from their task. I shook my head, and they went back to it.

  "I'll tell you!" Chad looked a little green.

  "That was almost too easy," I said.

  Hilly nodded. "Remember that Bosnian spy in Moldova?"

  I shrugged. "Well, once you cut their tongue out, they can't say much anymore. We should save that for last." Once again, I was making this up. Not all spies are torturers. You have to get extra licensing for that. They do have better dental though.

  "I said I'd tell you!" Chad began to hyperventilate.

  "Oh. Right. Sorry. I just got carried away," I apologized.

  Riley looked at Hilly. "How did you know about the Bosnian spy? You weren't there."

  She shrugged. "Interoffice memo. You guys are kind of legends for that."

  That was nice.

  "Okay! Okay!" Chad held his hands up. "My name really is Chad. And I don't really know why, but someone threw a hood over my head, grabbed me off the street, threw me in a black van, tied me up, and started asking for information on some woman!"

  My spydy senses were tingling. Was it Maria? I wouldn't put it past the agency to do something like that. And in spite of it being such a cliché, the CIA still used black conversion vans for stuff like this.

  Interns loved using them to pick up dry cleaning. Many in the agency thought the college age hires went a little too far sometimes by wearing ski masks to pick up coffee, but I sympathized because it was the only fun they had, since they usually found out the first day that they'd be stuck making copies, collating expense forms, and taking their managers' chihuahuas to get their anal glands expressed.

  "Could be anyone," Riley replied out loud to what he knew I was thinking.

  Hilly didn't seem to think this was strange and said nothing.

  "What woman? And why would you know about her?" I asked.

  "I don't know! I work in IT for a data mining company—you know, the kind where you look at a video of a sloth on your phone and then ads for sloth T-shirts pop up in your social media feed? It's a totally bo
ring job. I have no idea why someone thought I was a threat to anyone!"

  Yeah, I'd heard things like that all my life. No, I'm not a terrorist—I'm an asparagus farmer! I don't know anything—I'm an accountant for a twist-tie manufacturer! I don't know why they are after me—I'm just a turtle trainer! Why are you following me? I just taste test chewing gum!

  Although, I did find his occupation made me hate him a little more. It really annoys me when I do one little, innocuous search for death mittens and find twenty ads for socks with skulls and mittens on them in my news feed. The least they could do would be to post something like mittens that shoot lasers out the thumb or something.

  "So," I said. "You are a completely innocent Iowan who was walking down the street, when someone forced you into a van and started grilling you about something you know nothing about?"

  Chad nodded vigorously. "Yes! Exactly!"

  We were silent for a moment.

  "I'll get the zip gun," I said as I got to my feet again.

  Hilly nodded. "And the sharp and splintery toothpicks."

  I kind of wondered if she'd really brought those in her mysteriously down the hill backpack. I wouldn't put it past her.

  Riley studied the man's mouth, which was hanging open. "He doesn't need all of his teeth."

  Chad squeaked, "I swear! That's all I know. Hey! Maybe they got me mixed up with someone who looks just like me! Happens all the time in the movies!"

  "Does this look like a movie set to you, Chad?" Riley asked.

  Something in the man's attitude shifted. Chad folded his arms over his chest. "Do your worst. I'm not telling you anything because there's nothing else to say!"

  I don't know if he knew it, but he kind of had us there. We weren't really going to torture him. The last thing I needed was for the girls to see us do that. Kelly would kill me. Like, literally kill me if I gave the girls ideas.

  "Tie him up," I said at last. "When we get into town, we can tell everyone we left him here. Alive."

  "And that he totally spilled the beans." Hilly nodded.

  "And gave us a bunch of papers to mail to the Des Moines Register," Riley added.

  "What?" Chad squawked. "You can't do that! They'll kill me!"

  "Who will kill you, Chad?" I asked. "Besides us, that is."