Speak Easy (Speak Easy 1)

“It’s too dangerous!” she cried. “You could be hurt.”

I squared my shoulders. “Listen. I can handle this. You can help me.”

She took a deep breath and nodded. “Tell me what to do.”

“Pack a bag for you and Mary Grace. We’re going to Bridget’s, where you’re going to help me convince her to take you girls and the boys away for a few days—just until I get word to you that it’s safe to return. Daddy should be back by the end of the weekend,” I said, praying that was true. I couldn’t keep this up much longer. “If he isn’t, I’ll go to the police.”

“OK,” she said. “Give me five minutes.”

I hugged her again. “This wasn’t what you meant when you agreed to take on more responsibility, huh?”

She choked out a laugh against my shoulder. “Not exactly.”

#

We walked down to Bridget’s as the sun began to set. Neither of us spoke. Molly was probably in shock, and I was busy trying to think of a way to convince Bridget to take the kids out of town without telling her the whole truth. After what happened to Vince, I didn’t want her to panic and do something rash, like call the cops. I’ll give her the money from Enzo and tell her what I told Molly. That should be enough.

The store was closed when we arrived at the back door, but I had my key. “Let’s hope she listens to me,” I whispered to Molly as we took the stairs up to Bridget’s apartment. “I may need your help.”

When we walked in, the kitchen was empty and the dinner dishes were left on the table, which was odd. Bridget always did the dishes right after supper because she can’t stand a messy kitchen. My uneasy feeling intensified when we entered the front room. The kids were playing on the floor, and Bridget sat stiffly on the edge of the sofa, her face drained of color, her hands around her rosary.

“Hello,” I said. She looked at me blankly, almost as if she didn’t recognize me. Molly and I exchanged nervous glances. “Molly, why don’t you play with the kids a minute? I want to talk to Bridget.”

“Sure.” Molly dropped to her knees next to the kids, who were running tiny fire engines and trucks over the floor and table.

“Yes.” Bridget’s voice sounded strange to me. “We need to talk.” She stood and picked up a glass from the side table, which looked to me as if it contained whisky. That was even stranger, because Bridget rarely touched the stuff. She emptied it into her mouth and set the glass down again. “Come with me.”

Swallowing hard, I followed her into her bedroom and watched as she locked the door. “What’s going on, Bridget?”

Without answering, she went to her bed and pulled a package from underneath the mattress. It was a large, lumpy brown envelope.

“What is that?”

“Someone dropped it off for you.” Her voice shook. “He said it was from Joey.”

My blood roared violently through my veins. “That’s the package from Joey?”

She nodded. “I opened it.”

“You what?” I moved toward her and grabbed it. It was much heavier than I expected. “Why did you do that?”

Anger flashed in her eyes, a spark of the real Bridget. She grabbed it back from me and dumped the contents on the bed.

“Oh, shit.”

A huge mound of cash fell out.

Along with a shiny black pistol.

Chapter Fifteen

“Nothing to say?” Bridget hissed.

“I’m—I’m thinking.” But I couldn’t think. My mind whirled as I stared at the money and gun. This was the package from Joey? So who the hell gave me the necklace? And why? I sank onto the bed and picked up the pistol.

“Tiny, put that down!” Bridget knocked my wrist and the weapon fell back onto the spread. “You want to kill yourself? Or me?”

I stared at it. “Is it loaded?”