The Hit Man Hypothesis
Maisie
"Oh, please," I laughed. "He's not a hit man."
Standing at the kitchen table, Tessa paused in the middle of pouring flour into a glass measuring cup. "I didn't say he was."
"But Franny did?"
"She didn't say for sure," Tessa admitted. "It was just one of her theories."
I had to give Tessa credit. I'd insisted on taking a shower before talking, and by the time I'd gotten dressed, she'd already pulled out the bread machine and had the ingredients all lined up like she actually knew what she was doing.
She'd also left something sneaky on the table – a tiny bottle of pineapple-flavored booze – a leftover from last night's therapy session. Whether it was a kindness or something to loosen my tongue, I'd been pleased as punch to see it.
Between tiny sips, I'd already given her the full rundown, including how Griff had come to my rescue earlier today with Chad.
In return, she had told me how Franny had swept into the coffee shop like a one-woman news alert, hoping to spread a little gossip and collect some in return – not that Franny had gotten any.
How could she? After all, Tessa had known nothing of Griff.
Naturally, I had to ask, "What were her other theories?"
Tessa lifted her eyebrows. "Get this. She's seen him twice, right?"
I shrugged. "How would I know?"
"Well, that's what she said at the coffee shop. But anyway, she swears that he looked different today compared to yesterday, like he's in disguise or something."
It was vintage Franny, and I had to laugh. It's not like he'd slapped on a monocle and fake mustache. "He was dressed more casually, that's all."
Tessa paused in the middle of pouring salt into a teaspoon. "Wait…so you met this guy yesterday, too?"
"Briefly," I admitted. "I was there when he got off the ferry."
She finished with the salt. "And you actually talked to him?"
I nodded. "Yeah, there was some mix-up with his duffel bag, and I was stupid enough to get involved." I waved it off. "It's not important."
Tessa became very still, her expression somewhere between curious and lost.
I searched her face. "What's wrong?"
"Eh, nothing," she said. "Just something in the back of my mind. I can't quite place it."
"Okay, so…" I lifted the little bottle, preparing to take another sip. "If he's not a hit man, what else is he?" I snickered. "According to Franny, I mean."
"Her backup theories?" Tessa laughed. "Millionaire banker or gangster in hiding."
I almost choked. "A gangster? Why would she think that?" I'd seen my share of gangster flicks, and none of those guys looked like Griff.
Tessa smirked. "She said he looked dangerous. And sexy."
"Oh, my God." Forget sipping . I drained the bottle in one long gulp before returning it to the table with a hollow thud.
Tessa glanced at the empty bottle. "Want another? I've got plenty left."
I shook my head. "No way. One hangover this week is enough."
"So…?" Tessa said. "Is he?"
"A gangster?" I couldn't help but scoff. "No. Definitely not." Or at least I sure hoped not.
Tessa rolled her eyes. "No, I meant, sexy."
An image of Griff flashed in my brain. It was from this afternoon. He was crouched next to a rental bike with his sleeves shoved up and the muscles of his forearms bulging just enough to be interesting.
And that tattoo of his – it made me him look just a little bad-ass. Or a lot. At the memory, I gave a hard swallow.
Tessa's voice interrupted my thoughts. "That bad, huh?"
I blinked. "What? Oh." I cleared my throat. "Yeah, I guess some might call him sexy." This was no lie. But unless I was careful, I would be linking that word to Griff and Franny at the same time, conjuring a second image that was far less appealing.
I was quick to add, "But it's just not his looks. He was really great at the shop today – with the mechanics in particular."
Looking more suspicious than impressed, Tessa asked, "But if he's so great, why would he work so cheap?"
This again? "He said he's here for a month, and he wants to kill some time – so he's doing some work at the shop, that's all."
She gave me a skeptical look. "For free."
"Not free," I reminded her. "For sandwiches and transportation." Beyond curious, I leaned in. "And how did Franny know I wasn't paying him with actual money?"
"Oh, that," Tessa said. "She heard it from her nephew." She paused to think. "Somebody named Jason?"
And then it hit me. Of course. "Damn it. It was because of the sandwich."
Tessa scratched at her temple, leaving a streak of flour behind. "What sandwich?"
"Well, that's how I'm paying him, right? You know…with sandwiches."
"In theory."
"No, in reality. But today, I couldn't exactly make him a sandwich at the shop, so I ordered one from the café across the street."
"Yeah, so?"
"So, when I call to place the order, I tell Jason – "
"Ohhhhh." Tessa's expression cleared. "That Jason. He makes a mean turkey melt."
No kidding . My mouth watered at the thought. "Yeah, tell me about it. Anyway, I tell Jason that some guy's gonna be coming in with my credit card and to let him use it. But just as I'm giving the order, Griff says he's not using my card."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. But he was really stubborn about it." I straightened in my chair. "But so was I. I tell him flat-out – and I quote – 'It's the least I can do since you're working for free.'"
Tessa winced. "Well, I guess that explains it."
"I guess," I muttered. "I'll need to be more careful."
"So…?" Tessa said, as if fishing for more. "Did he like the sandwich?"
"Actually…" I grimaced at the memory. "I don't think so."
She looked surprised. "Why not?"
"Well, he had me pick, saying that I'm a local and would know what's best, so of course, I pick my favorite."
"The turkey melt."
I nodded. "Right. And you know how it is, all cheesy and delicious with tomatoes and dried cranberries."
"Yeah?"
"Well, I swear to God, he takes one bite, stops, swallows it hard, and then he opens the sandwich right there in the back room."
"And?"
"And he goes through and picks off every single cranberry, like he's allergic or something."
"Is he? Did you ask?"
"Sure," I said. "But all he said was that he's eaten enough dried fruit to last a lifetime."
At this, Tessa sucked in a breath. "Oh, my God."
I frowned in confusion. "What?"
"The duffel," she said.
"What duffel?"
"You mentioned that he was carrying a duffel yesterday, right?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Was it big and black?"
In my mind, I could still see it. "Yeah, but that's a pretty common bag. Why do you ask?"
She practically groaned. "I think I met him."
My pulse kicked up a notch. "Really? When?"
"Yesterday morning. He was with this other guy – hot but incredibly annoying…" She cringed. "And…well…I did something I shouldn't have."
Now that sounded interesting. "Really? What?"
She held up a hand, palm out. "Okay, before I tell you, just let me say, the coffee shop was really busy, and I was working there all by myself because Ted was on break…"
I leaned forward. "Yeah?"
"And, these two guys come in – and I can tell they think they're hot stuff – especially the blond one – "
"So not Griff? I mean, his hair is brown, so…"
"Right. Anyway, they're going back and forth like I've got nothing better to do, and there's this huge line, and they want me to pick their pastries – a whole dozen – which I'm happy to do, but something about that blond guy made me a little nuts, so when they specify no raisins…"
"Oh, no." I didn't know whether to laugh or groan. "You gave them raisins? In everything?"
At this, she looked nearly insulted. "No. Of course not."
I searched her face for clues. "So…what am I missing?"
She chewed on her lower lip. "I, um, gave them cranberries, actually."
Talk about devious. "Seriously?"
She looked pained at the memory. "Yeah, lots of them. And then, the blond guy tips me a hundred dollars. And it makes me feel soooo guilty, and I almost refuse to accept it, but then I think, 'well…why give the money back to him when I could…'"
She never did finish the sentence, but I knew exactly where she'd been going, so I finished it for her. "…when you could give it to me. For rent."
She reached up to scratch her flour-covered cheek. "Uh, yeah. Something like that."
Now, I didn't know what to think. Even the thing with Tessa made no sense.
During the last day or so, I'd come to suspect that her finances were nearly as bad as mine.
But why? Her parents had money, loads of it.
And she'd been impressively successful on her own – at least the way Delaney always talked.
Then again, I'd been out of the loop for nearly a year. When I'd asked Tessa what she'd been up to, she'd been incredibly vague and changed the subject. She'd been so obvious about it – almost to the point of rudeness – that I didn't dare pry, even now.
But I sorely wanted to.
And what about Griff? What was his story? If he hung with hundred-dollar tippers, why was he claiming to be broke?
As my grandma used to say, birds of a feather flocked together, and it seemed beyond unlikely that a mega-tipper would be hanging out with someone so desperate they'd work for food.
But of course, I'd been suspicious of Griff's story from the start. Surely, he couldn't be that hard up?
Suddenly, I wasn't sure if I'd hired a mechanic, a millionaire, or a man on the run. I felt my eyebrows furrow. What if he was all three?
A millionaire mechanic hitman?
No. Definitely not.
Oh, screw it. "You know what?"
Tessa gave a little jump, as if she'd been deep in thought. "What?"
I glanced toward stairs. "I think I will take that second bottle."
She let out a groan. "Thank God."
"Why?"
"Because it gives me an excuse to grab one for me. I seriously need one." She abandoned the baking supplies and practically bolted from the kitchen, leaving me staring after her.
Huh . What was that about?