Page 3 of Death is Familiar

“I used to be a smash-and-grabber, Delilah.” He shifted in his seat. “Yeah, I know, I know. You hate smash-and-grabbers. So did Lawrence. But we worked a case together and he tried to show me a different path. How to extract people without the drugs and…. chaos. After that we became friends. Good friends. If I was stuck, he’s the person I’d call.”

That sounded like Lawrence. But what didn’t make sense was if they had this type of relationship, why did I not know about it? “Why would Lawrence keep something like that a secret?”

“He paid me.” The Muffin Man’s words seemed pained. Like the truth somehow hurt him. “Delilah, Lawrence paid me to make sure you were okay. To watch over you. That you didn’t get into trouble.”

No. That wasn’t possible.

My brother paid someone, a former smash-and-grabber, to make sure I didn’t get into trouble? Like he didn’t believe I would be able to hold my own? Lawrence would never. He trusted me implicitly. With every fiber of his being.

Nevertheless, a troublesome thought took hold. If it was true, what else didn’t I know?

“How long?” An ember of anger rekindling in my chest, I fisted my hands at my sides. “How long have you been ‘keeping me out of trouble?’”

“Four years, give-or-take, but to be fair you were in prison for two of ‘em. I intervened very little. You can clearly take care of yourself.”

“Four years!?” I took a deep breath. It could all be lies.

“Now, hold on.” Sensing the tables turn, the Muffin Man stood. “I know this is strange, but bear with me. Please. Please. He knew he was gonna be on a Seal. He wanted someone to make sure nothing happened to you because of him. Then something changed… he acted, strange. He gave me that letter to give to you, and this…” The Muffin Man reached into his wallet and pulled out a key. It looked like it belonged to a safety deposit box. Part of a pair.

“What is it? A key to what?”

“Lawrence’s contingency plan. If something went wrong with the Seal, he told me to give you the letter, and hold onto this key until you cracked the code. Then we go unlock what Lawrence left us, together.”

It sounded awfully like he was holding the key for ransom. “What’s in it for you?”

The Muffin Man bit his bottom lip, tucking the tiny key back into his wallet. “Fifty percent of whatever cash he left behind. More, if you want me to hang around and continue to play defense detail.”

“Consider your duty ended.”

All in all, it seemed like he did a rather piss-poor job of “keeping me safe”. The Muffin Man didn’t do anything when I was convicted for Lawrence’s murder. Which suggested he was either lazy or incapable.

Unless he wanted me in prison…

Maybe he’d tried to crack whatever code Lawrence left for me, to access Lawrence’s contingency plan himself. If I was in prison when he got access to the safe, he’d get all the cash and I would never have known it existed. But my conjecture would have to wait. Lawrence’s money, however little of it there was bound to be, didn’t matter. Not to me. It wasn’t going to bring him back.

“Look, Delilah, I know this whole situation is… strange. You have every right to be mad at me. I understand, I do, but I came here for Lawrence. I protected you for him. Everything I did, all the weird shit, I’m sorry. Really, I am. But you working with the FBI didn’t give me much choice. You know how much shit I’d be in if I got on the FBI’s radar?”

He was feeling me out. He wanted me to say something, to see if the FBI knew about his involvement, but I knew better.

And I’d had enough.

The Muffin Man had stayed in my apartment far too long. I wanted him out. But I needed to know my home was safe. And for that I’d need to know how he’d gotten in undetected.

“I need time. I need time to think. I need time to heal. And I need to know that you won’t be breaking into my apartment whenever you feel like it.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Good.” I stuck out my hand, palm up. Either he picked my lock or he somehow got his hands on the building’s master key and made a copy. My vote was on the latter. “Key.”

“But—”

“Now.”

The Muffin Man sighed, reaching into his pocket, producing a larger, more substantial key than the one he displayed earlier. A skeleton key.

“Your supe really needs to work on their security. If you’re not careful, they could let just about anyone slip in.”

They already did. The Muffin Man in my apartment was evidence enough of that. “How do I know this is your only copy?”